Hard Lessons
by fvhardy
Summary: How far would you go to fix a mistake? When the actions of one CSI land another in grave danger, he is forced to make a decision that could have devastating consequences...
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

"…_And she came at me, like a light in the dark_…"

The twang of country was grating on Nick's nerves. Normally he enjoyed a little country while he drove, but not tonight. Tonight, he was exhausted - shattered would have been a better word - and his head throbbed so much, it felt like it was ready to explode.

It was supposed to have been his night off, but then Grissom had called. Warrick was stuck in Dallas, his flight grounded because of heavy fog, and Catherine had called in sick. Both he and Sara were covering a major shootout in Henderson…there was no one else. Grissom had apologised in that measured, unruffled way of his, but that didn't change the fact that Nick was on his way into work only hours after finishing a double shift.

Which brought him back to the country music.

Grissom had paired him with Greg, someone with zero experience and all the enthusiasm of an over-eager puppy; someone who Nick was ill-equipped to deal with tonight.

The excited chatter had started as soon as they had sat into Nick's Tahoe. "Can you believe Grissom sent me out?" Greg had asked, nearly bouncing in his seat.

_Not really_, thought Nick silently, mentally cursing his supervisor.

"Couldn't believe it when Grissom said he needed me at a scene," Greg continued, his eyes shining. "Especially not one like this…I mean, this isn't just watching someone _else_ collect evidence, _I_ actually get to collect evidence too!"

The excited chatter had continued in the same vein for several blocks until Nick had finally switched on the radio when his monosyllabic answers had little effect on Greg.

It had seemed to work. Greg despised country music and had lapsed into silence shortly after Nick turned it on. But now the music was irritating Nick too. He was exhausted and cranky, and really would have preferred to just drive in silence. But since that wasn't an option, Nick decided to stick with the music; he wasn't expected to answer the music.

_Grissom, you owe me big time_! thought Nick, as a vision of his bed swam before his tired eyes.

Nick usually got on very well with Greg. The young lab tech was one of the most energetic and fun people he had ever met in his life, but a crime scene was no place for humour. Nick didn't want Greg in the field, he wanted him to stay in the lab. He was out of the way in the lab and, more importantly, he was safe in the lab.

His bad mood permeated the vehicle and when they finally arrived at the crime scene, it was a very subdued Greg who climbed out of the SUV. But Nick was oblivious to this as he studied the surrounding area.

They were in a large, industrial district which consisted mainly of warehouses. The lighting was poor and, except for the police officers and paramedics mulling around the first building, the whole place was devoid of people.

_Good place to commit murder_, Nick noted.

"Hey, Nick!" he heard a voice call and turned. Detective Vartann stood waving at him from behind the crime scene tape. Stifling a yawn, Nick returned the salute and made his way over to the Detective, completely forgetting about Greg.

"Hey, Vartann," Nick greeted him as he joined the detective. "What have we got?"

"Two victims, both male. First guy was beaten to death…the body is in the warehouse."

"What about the second guy?" asked Nick.

"Single gunshot to the stomach," responded Vartann. "Body is out back, it looks like he tried to crawl away. Security guards found him and called the paramedics, but he died before they could get here."

"Coroner pronounce?"

"Not yet, they arrived just before you did," Vartann replied. "I'm going to talk with the security guards if you want to head in?"

Nick nodded and started for the building, throwing a "lets go, Greg" over his shoulder. The young lab tech followed eagerly, increasing his speed to keep up with Nick.

They entered the building and the officer on the door pointed them in the direction of several massive storage shelves. Thanking him, Nick moved past several shelves before coming to the aisle to where Doc Robbins was crouched on the floor. He felt his heart drop at the mess that greeted him.

_Shit! This will take hours to process_…

Dark blood had pooled out beneath the body on the floor, and there were several bloody footprints in the surrounding area. A large strip of blood led all the way to the back of the warehouse, as though something had been dragged down there. There was blood spatter all over the boxes on the surrounding shelves, as well as what looked like bits of human tissue. The man's skull had been completely crushed, its contents spilling out onto the floor.

"Hey, Doc," Nick greeted the older man.

"Hi, Nick," he responded. "Just so you know, the footprints aren't mine or the paramedics. I've been careful not to step in them."

"Thanks, Doc. What can you tell me about the bodies?"

"This guy was battered to death, probably with a heavy object, but I'll know more after post."

"What about TOD?" asked Nick.

"Just over an hour ago judging by liver temp."

_One hour! The killer can't have gotten far covered in blood! I'll have Vartann send a few officers out to scour the area_, thought Nick.

"What about the second body?" he asked.

"Cause of death was exsanguination from a gunshot wound to the stomach…" the doctor frowned and broke off suddenly, his gaze directed behind Nick. "Greg, are you okay?"

Nick spun around. Greg was pale and his eyes were fixed on the body in front.

"Greg?" Nick prodded and he looked up. Nick saw his lips twitch and yelled at once, "Greg, go! Just go! Before you contaminate the scene!"

The young technician turned and rushed out. Nick followed quickly after, scowling in irritation. He pushed open the door just in time to see Greg wiping his mouth with a shaking hand.

"You okay?" he asked, a little brusquely.

Greg nodded. "Sorry, Nick…I just didn't expect…it looked so…"

"Look, don't worry about it," Nick interrupted him with a dismissive wave. "It's your first real crime scene."

_Which you aren't qualified to be at_, he added to himself.

Gregg nodded, downcast. "What do you want me to do?"

"You can photograph the perimeter," Nick replied.

"Wait! What about inside? That's a big scene, it could take you ages…"

Nick interrupted him again. "No offence, Greg, but I can't risk you contaminating the scene. I think it's best if you stay out here."

Greg looked as though he had been slapped. "Nick, I wasn't expecting the scene to look like that. Don't worry, I'm not going to puke again!"

Nick sighed. "Look, Greg, I'm very tired and I really want to get out of here quickly. It'll be faster if I process on my own."

"But…"

"No buts, Greg, just do it."

Turning to head back inside, Nick felt a pang of guilt at Greg's crestfallen expression. "Tell you what," he patted the younger man on the shoulder. "If you feel up to it, why don't you start processing the body out back?"

Then he went back inside, swallowing another yawn.

**xxx**

Greg was hurt and angry. He knew Nick was exhausted, but that still didn't explain why Nick was being such a jerk. He'd been silent and moody ever since they had got in the car, and now he was dismissing Greg as though he were five years old. Sure, he'd thrown up, but that was only the shock of seeing a bloody crime scene for the first time.

_It's not like I'm going to do it again! _Greg thought, annoyed.

Scowling, he snapped pictures while moving around the warehouse. Ever since Grissom had agreed to let Greg out in the field, Nick had been weird about it. It upset him because Nick was the one person Greg had thought would support him. He wondered if it was because Nick didn't think him capable; he certainly acted as though he didn't.

He rounded the corner and arrived at the back of the building. Lying just outside the back door was the second body. Apprehensively, Greg moved towards it and braced himself for a shock.

It wasn't as bad as he expected. There was a lot of blood, but after the initial shock of the first scene, he was prepared and didn't feel the same surge of nausea. Feeling slightly better about himself, Greg started to photograph the body.

_See? I can do this! Screw you, Nick!_

The man's hand was closed around something and as Greg bent down to take a picture, he noticed several small blood drops leading away.

_Where does that go? _Greg wondered as he snapped a picture and took out his flashlight to follow the trail. The drops were small and random, but Greg eventually traced them through a hole in the fence to a dumpster against wall of the warehouse next door. A bloody handprint was evident on the lid of the container. Greg put down his camera and pulled on some gloves before standing on tiptoe, lifting the lid and peering in. At first, nothing stood out, but then he noticed a bloody wrench on top of some used banana skins.

_I bet that's what he hit the first guy with! _thought Greg triumphantly. _Wait till Nick sees this!_

He was just bending down for his camera when someone hit him from behind. With a cry of surprise, Greg fell forward onto the concrete. Instantly his assailant was on him, pinning him to the ground and a bear-like hand was clamped over his mouth. Greg struggled, trying to buck him off, but the man was bigger and stronger than he was. His head squashed into the ground, Greg could only vaguely see the first warehouse in the dark. There was no sign of any of the officers.

_Where are they? _he thought desperately, reaching back with his hands and scratching his attacker. He was rewarded by a hiss of pain and struggled harder. Then he felt what was unmistakeably the cold metal of a gun touch his temple and froze.

"Listen, kid," a harsh voice whispered. "I'm gonna take my hand away from your mouth. You even so much as _whimper_ and I'll put a bullet in your skull! Got that?"

Shaking, Greg nodded. The man removed his hand from Greg's mouth and quickly patted him down. Then he placed his hand over Greg's eyes, pulling his head back against him. Greg felt the gun scraping his skin as it moved from his temple to his jaw.

"Now, I'm gonna ask you a few questions," the man whispered in his ear. "You want to stay alive then you answer them! Got it?"

Again, Greg nodded. His heart was hammering madly in his chest and his breathing was coming in short, panicked gasps.

"Good boy. Are you a cop?"

Greg shook his head.

"Then what are you doing here?"

"I'm…I'm a CSI," Greg whispered.

"You look for evidence and shit?"

Greg nodded again, it was easier than speech.

"How many cops are here?"

Greg swallowed. His mouth felt so dry. "I don't…I don't know," he managed.

"Think harder about that one, kid, if you don't want a hole right here!" The gun was jabbed into his check.

Shaking, Greg tried to remember by picturing the scene. _Vartann was behind the tape, there was one officer outside the tape and one inside the door…shit I don't remember! No, think! Another inside the warehouse, and_…_and_…_one outside the building! That's it!_

"Well, kid?" the man pressed, pushing his gun painfully into Greg's jaw.

"Five! There are five!" Greg cried out.

"Shhhhh!" the man hissed at him, taking his hand from Greg's eyes and clamping it over his mouth once more. He squashed the young lab tech's face against the ground and Greg winced in pain.

"And that's everyone with guns?" the man asked.

Greg started to nod but then paused. He had forgotten about Nick! He tried to shake his head but the man had him pressed so far into the ground that it hurt.

"Yes or no?" the man barked in a low voice. "Don't make me ask again!"

Greg forced his head into a shake, scraping his cheek on the concrete.

"No? What do you mean no?" the man demanded in a whisper removing his hand from Greg's mouth.

"There's…the other CSI has a gun," Greg said in a low voice, closing his eyes tightly as the gun was pressed even harder into his cheek.

"Are you telling me there's six cops with guns?"

Greg nodded.

"Fuck! Shit!" the man hissed. "How the fuck am I supposed to get out of here?"

_I don't care, just go! _thought Greg.

The man was silent for several minutes, keeping Greg pinned against the concrete and the gun pressed tightly to his face.

Then he addressed Greg again. "Did you say you're a CSI?"

"Yes…sort of," Greg choked out. The man's weight and his panicked breathing were making it difficult for him to get any air into his lungs.

The man pulled his hair and snarled, "what do you mean sort of?"

"I'm a trainee," Greg answered, wishing he had never left the lab.

"Even better!" The man released Greg's hair and slammed his head into the concrete.

Instantly Greg saw stars. He was only vaguely aware of the man getting off him and pulling him to his feet. He swayed as the man pushed him against the dumpster, still pointing the gun to his head.

"You're going to help me get out of here," he said.

**xxx**

Nick finished photographing and processing the body.

"You can take that one," he told the waiting paramedics. "Greg should have started the other body, but I'll just get it finished so you can take that one too."

"Thanks," said the blonde paramedic as they started to load the body onto the gurney.

Nick moved towards the back of the warehouse, studying the strip of blood as he did so.

_This is where the other guy must have dragged himself out! _he realised, as he neared the end of the aisle. _I'll get Greg to swab the blood and take it back to DNA._

Rounding the corner of the massive warehouse shelving, Nick got the shock of his life. Standing just inside the back door of the warehouse, and right in the middle of the blood trail, was Greg. A tall, muscular man stood just behind him, one arm wrapped around his throat, the other pointing a gun at his head.

It was Nick's worst nightmare come to life.

"Move and I'll kill him!" the man snarled at once.

"What do you want?" demanded Nick in a low voice, noticing the blood on the man's shoes and clothes.

"I want to get out of here!" the man told him.

"Okay, we can do that," said Nick, trying to stay calm. "Just let him go and we'll talk about this…"

"Talk my ass!" the gunman snapped. "I know what'll happen the second I let him go! He stays with me until I get out of here! Either that or I blow his brains out!"

The man cocked the trigger to emphasise his point, and Nick saw Greg close his eyes.

"Whoa! Take it easy," said Nick hurriedly. "We'll get you out, just don't hurt him."

"How?" the gunman demanded.

Nick didn't know. He studied Greg intently. The young lab tech was pale and dazed looking, and there was a bloody welt above his left temple. Nick felt his anger and fear rise. What if they got outside and the man panicked and started to shoot at the officers? They would have no choice but to fire back, and Greg could get hurt…or worse. Nick couldn't risk that.

"Tell you what," Nick shifted his gaze to the gunman. "Why don't you take me with you? Let Greg go, I'll go with you as a hostage until you get out of here."

"Not a chance! He's coming with me!" The gunman tightened his hold on Greg's neck and Nick saw him wince.

"Please," said Nick, trying to keep the desperation out of his voice. "He's not trained to deal with this and…"

"Which is exactly why he makes the better hostage!" the man interrupted him. "Now, either you get me out of here or he dies!" He squeezed Greg's neck so hard he gasped in pain and pushed the gun hard into his temple. "It's your choice, what will it be?"

**xxx**

The gunman had kept his arm locked firmly around Greg's neck and the gun to his temple as he pushed him through the back door of the warehouse.

"Where's the other CSI?" he whispered in Greg's ear.

But Greg stayed silent, afraid this man would hurt Nick. Angrily, the man whacked his head with the gun. The world tipped sideways as Greg felt his knees buckle beneath him, and only his attacker's grip kept him standing.

"You'd better fucking answer me!" the man hissed in his hear, pressing the gun hard against Greg's throbbing temple.

The young lab tech kept his mouth resolutely closed. This man was dangerous, what if he hurt Nick? No way was Greg letting that happen.

But his heart sank seconds later when Nick appeared from behind one of the massive storage shelves. He stopped dead when he saw Greg and the gunman, and Greg thought he saw a flash of fear in Nick's eyes.

"Move and I'll kill him!" the gunman snarled at Nick.

"What do you want?" Nick asked, and Greg could see his jaw muscles clenching tightly as they always did when he was stressed or angry.

"I want to get out of here!" the man answered.

"Okay, we can do that," said Nick. "Just let him go and we'll talk about this…"

"Talk my ass!" the gunman snapped. "I know what'll happen the second I let him go! He stays with me until I get out of here! Either that or I blow his brains out!"

Greg could feel the gun pushing harder against his skull and heard the unmistakable click of the gun barrel. Feeling light-headed, he closed his eyes.

As the man's grip on his throat tightened, the throbbing in his head intensified and blackness started to wash over him. He was vaguely aware of Nick and the gunman talking, but wasn't entirely sure what they were saying. Everything was drifting away.

Suddenly, the gunman squeezed his neck so tightly it hurt and Greg gasped, the pain bringing him back to reality.

"It's your choice, what will it be?" he heard the gunman ask.

Greg opened his eyes. Nick was pale now, and there was obvious fear in his eyes as well as desperation.

_Nick, help_, Greg tried to plead silently with him. _I don't know what to do_.

_Neither do I_, Nick's face seemed to say

After several minutes, Nick spoke up. "If I can get you in a car and out of here, will you let him go?"

"_If_ you can get me out of here, then yeah, I will," the man answered.

Nick nodded. "Okay, I'm going to radio the officers and tell them not to shoot when we come out, okay? Then I'll give you the keys to my car - it's parked just outside the tape - so you can get away."

"Do it!" the man hissed. "And I _know_ there are five cops outside, so make sure they're all standing well away from me!"

While Nick radioed the officers and explained the situation, the gun man leaned close to Greg's ear and whispered, "You stay nice and calm, kid, and no one needs to get hurt…least of all you. You got that?"

Greg nodded, then stopped. The movement made his head hurt.

"Detective Vartann has pulled everyone back," Nick told him. "Are you ready?"

"Ready," the man answered. "But one false move and I swear I'll kill him!"

"I get it," Nick replied through gritted teeth.

Slowly, Nick walked out. The gunman followed, keeping a tight grip on his hostage. Outside, the profusion of lights hit Greg, dazzling him and causing him to stumble, but the gunman held him tightly and forced him forward.

"Start the car and turn it!" he heard the gunman order as his vision cleared slightly and he could see Nick climbing into his Tahoe. Vartann and the other officers were watching the scene unfold with apprehension. Greg could also see the paramedics standing further back, their eyes glued to him. He swallowed.

_Everyone's gonna to think I'm so stupid for getting into this! _he thought miserably. He wondered if he would ever get a chance in the field again.

Nick climbed out of the Tahoe, leaving it running and made his way back to them. "Okay, get in the car and let Greg go," he said.

"Not yet," the gunman told him. "I want everyone to put their guns on the ground and kick them towards me, then move back against the wall."

Nick relayed the command and the officers quickly complied.

"Now let the air out of everyone's tires!" the gunman ordered.

"Why?" Nick demanded.

"Do you think I'm stupid?" the gunman jeered. "I don't want anyone following me! Now, do it!" He wrenched Greg's neck to emphasise his point and Greg cried out in pain.

"Okay! Okay!" said Nick. "I'll do it."

Greg watched as Nick bent down and almost laughed at the ludicrousness of the situation; straight-laced Nick Stokes letting the air out of someone's tires like some childish prank.

"Drop your gun and back against the wall with everyone else!" the gunman commanded.

With a helpless look at Greg, Nick once more did as he was told. Slowly the gunman began to back toward the open door of the Tahoe, dragging Greg with him. He eased into the SUV and Greg could feel the man getting ready to shove him away when suddenly a shot rang out.

"What the fuck?!" the man yelled, as an officer came charging around the side of the warehouse.

_Oh shit! _thought Greg. He had forgotten about the officer patrolling the perimeter. He could hear Nick screaming at the officer to stop shooting as he was yanked into the Tahoe. All hell was breaking loose.

The gunman pulled him in and twisted his t-shirt until it choked him, all the while screaming at him. "DRIVE, YOU LITTLE FUCKING SHIT! DRIVE!"

It was then Greg realised that he was in the driver's seat and the man still had the gun pointing at his head.

"DRIVE!" he screamed and Greg hit the gas. The Tahoe lurched forward and smashed into one of the patrol cars.

"Get us out of here now, or you'll be dead before they can even open the door!" the gunman snarled at Greg.

Greg could see Nick and the other officers running for the Tahoe, but upon hearing the click of the gun hammer at his ear, swallowed hard. No man could outrun a bullet.

With a sudden jerk and screech of tires, Greg put the truck in gear and shot out.

**xxx**

"No! No! No!" Nick yelled after the rapidly disappearing truck. He came to a halt in the middle of the road, panic and fear threatening to consume him.

Greg was gone. He was gone and Nick had watched him being taken from right under his nose and done nothing.

_Dammit! _he screamed at himself in frustration. He turned around and caught sight of Vartann radioing in the kidnapping and the details of Nick's truck. Then he saw the officer who had started shooting.

"YOU!" he roared, stalking over to the man. "This is all your fault! Why the hell did you start shooting?"

"Hey!" the officer raised his hands, looking offended. "The guy had a _gun_!"

"Yeah, which he had pointed at Greg's head! You could have shot him! And now that nut has him because _you_ couldn't follow protocol!" Nick was yelling now.

"Nick, calm down," said Detective Vartann, appearing at his side. "I've called it in. Every officer in Vegas will be on the lookout for that Tahoe in a matter of minutes."

"And what good is it if he shoots Greg?" Nick demanded angrily. "Everything would have been fine if this MORAN hadn't come in firing like a lunatic! I swear, if anything happens to Greg, I'm holding _you _responsible!" Nick jabbed a finger in the officer's chest.

"Watch it!" said the officer threateningly, slapping Nick's hand away. "It's not my fault the kid was stupid enough to get himself kidnapped!"

Nick pushed him hard. "Not your fault? NOT YOUR FAULT? You were supposed to be watching the perimeter! Where the hell were you when he was taken hostage?"

The officer pushed back angrily. "I'm not the one who was supposed to be watching him, _you_ were!"

"Okay, that's it!" snapped Vartann, dragging Nick away from the officer before things could escalate further. "What is the matter with you?" he hissed furiously at Nick once they were out of hearing distance.

Nick just glowered back. He knew he was being unreasonable but he couldn't help it. Fear and panic were taking over and sending all rational thought spiralling out of control. This was the one thing he had feared ever since Greg had said he wanted to work in the field. Nick could deal with what work threw at him, but he couldn't handle the thought of anything happening to Greg.

_Why? _a little voice awoke in the back of his mind. _Why does he matter so much to you?_

_Because he just does! _Nick told himself firmly, not wanting to dig any deeper.

"Nick?" Vartann was speaking to him and Nick shook his head.

"What?"

The detective looked worried now. "Nick, are you okay? You seem kind of out of it."

"My best friend's just been kidnapped at gunpoint!" Nick growled. "Of course I'm not okay!" He shot another dirty, furious look at the officer who had shot at the gunman. "If anything happens to Greg, I swear he'll be sorry!"

"Nick, stop it! It's not his fault!" the detective answered angrily. "Yes, he should have been watching the perimeter and there'll be consequences for that…but he's also right. Greg's a trainee, he's your responsibility. Why the hell was he on his own in the first place?"

Nick didn't answer. Guilt was jostling for attention alongside the fear and panic. His eagerness to finish with the crime scene had made him disregard not only Greg's feelings, but his safety.

Nick sat down heavily on the sidewalk, his head in his hands. Why had he been so careless? He had been so terrified of anything happening to Greg in the field, yet tonight he had overlooked the potential dangers and failed to protect Greg.

He would never forgive himself for it.

The detective watched as the CSI seemed to fall to pieces. He had no idea what was going on for the man, but whatever it was, it had something to do with the young lab technician who had just been kidnapped.

Vartann glanced at his watch uncomfortably. The CSI team had been notified of Greg's abduction and were on their way here now. Vartann just hoped they got here soon because he was lousy at stuff like this.

**xxx**

"You little fucking prick! You told me there were five!" the gunman shouted at Greg prodding the gun hard against his ribs.

Greg's hands were shaking as they gripped the steering wheel. "I'm sorry," he whispered, as reality kicked in and he felt himself being doused in cold terror. He was being held at gunpoint by a man with a hair-trigger temper…a gun was actually being pointed at him. Greg wanted to close his eyes and not think about it.

"Yeah, well that little mistake could cost you," the man told him. "Now drive!"

The gunman lapsed into thoughtful silence while Greg kept his eyes on the road. He was finding it difficult to drive. Aside from his shaking hands, Greg's head was throbbing fiercely and his vision was still frighteningly blurry. It was all he could do to keep the car straight without the added distraction of this man threatening him. Suddenly, Greg was blinded by the beam of an oncoming car and the SUV swerved a little.

"What the fuck was that?" the man screamed at him. "Are you trying to draw attention to us?"

Terrified, Greg shook his head. "No! I just…I can't see very well."

"What do you mean…never mind! Just pull into this alley up here."

Greg did as he was told and parked the car, hoping the man was going to let him go as he had originally intended. His hopes were dashed however, when the man seized him by the throat and pushed his head against the car window.

"You stupid little shit!" the man hissed at him, pressing in close to Greg and pointing the gun at his head again. "Why couldn't you just have counted properly? You've put me in a very dangerous position and I don't like that. Maybe I should just kill you right now!"

Greg closed his eyes, feeling the cold metal of the gun against his hot skin. "Please…please don't kill me."

There was silence for several minutes. The gunman kept his gun against Greg's head and didn't move. The young lab tech was just beginning to think he would shoot him when suddenly he was being dragged across the seats and out of the car.

He opened his eyes as the gunman grabbed his t-shirt by the neck and pushed him to the back of the car, his gun now pointing at the back of his head.

"Open the trunk," the gunman commanded. Greg quickly did as he was told, his shaking fingers fumbling with the latch. As the trunk swung open, the gunman shoved Greg against the wall and pinned him against it. He said nothing for several minutes and then Greg heard a muttered "perfect" before something slammed into the back of his head.

Pain exploded in his skull as bright lights danced behind his eyes and bounced off the inside of his head. He felt his knees buckle and slumped down onto the ground.

Seconds later, the gunman was rolling him onto his stomach and yanking his arms behind his back. Greg felt something being wound tightly around his wrists and tried to struggle, but his body seemed to have lost the ability to move.

Greg wondered if he was unconscious. He couldn't move and he couldn't see, but for some odd reason he could _hear_, despite the haze of pain. He felt something sticky being placed over his mouth and eyes. Then the gunman lifted him up and tossed him down hard. Judging by the objects digging into his back, he guessed he was in the trunk. Somewhere a door slammed and Greg heard the engine starting up again. He was thrown against the door as the truck took off, smacking his head hard against the door. Lights flashed before his eyes and the unconsciousness that had been pulling at him since the gunman had first slammed his head into the concrete finally overtook him; Greg slipped into blackness.

**xxx**

_Jesus Christ! I'm in so much fucking trouble! _the gunman growled to himself tightening his grip on the steering wheel. _Christof is going to be so pissed!_

He was only supposed to have picked up the package, but the dealers had changed their mind at the last minute and refused to sell. It had put him in a predicament because this sale had been his last chance with Christof; he screwed this one up and he was dead. Literally.

He swallowed. He might have got the package, but there hadn't been time to clean up the mess at the warehouse. Hell, there hadn't even been time to get out of there! The security guards had shown up while he was searching the bodies and the cops a few minutes later. He couldn't even stay hidden because some nosey kid had come wandering over to his hiding place.

The gunman aimed an uneasy glance at the trunk. He hadn't intended to take the kid with him. All he had wanted was to get out of there, but then that cop had come in with guns blazing and he'd had no choice but to take the kid.

It wasn't like he could fire back with an empty gun.

The gunman glanced at the firearm tucked in his belt. He had been so sure he had loaded the damn thing…it was only when he had shot the first dealer and aimed for the second one that he'd realised his mistake. When the second man came at him, he had grabbed the wrench off the shelf and hit him with it, before dumping it in the trash out back.

_My prints are all over the fucking thing! _he realised with a horrible twinge. If he led them back to Christof he was finished! He would have to dump this car and the kid before attempting some serious damage control.

Just then, his phone rang and the gunman felt his stomach twist as he glanced at the caller ID."Hello," he answered fearfully.

"Where are you?" came the rumblings of a deep and heavily-accented voice. "You should have been here nearly an hour ago."

"There was a problem…" he began, but the voice cut him off.

"With you, there are always problems. Did you get it?"

"Yes."

"Good. Bring it to me at once."

The gunman swallowed. Hard. "I have to take care of a little complication first. I…"

"You will bring it to me now! Your fuck-up can be taken care of later!"

"But…"

"NOW!" came the growled reply and the phone went dead.

_Oh shit! Shit! Shit! Shit!_

His hands shook as he pulled in and put his head on the steering wheel. Christof would kill him. No! Not just kill him, he would make sure he suffered first. The gunman swallowed as he restarted Nick's truck with shaking fingers; usually he was prone to anger, but not fear.

Christof, however, terrified him. He had seen what the man could do. Running was useless, his arm was too long.

He was driving beneath the bright lights of Vegas, but he felt like he was driving further and further into a darkening pit.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

"Nick! What happened?"

The shout cut sharply into Nick's thoughts, and he looked up from his position on the pavement. Grissom and Sara were hurrying towards him.

"I was careless," Nick answered bleakly as they stopped beside him. "I should have been watching him."

"What do you mean?" demanded Sara, staring down at Nick.

"Greg threw up when he saw the body inside, so I sent him out to photograph the perimeter. I…I wanted him out of the way!"

Sara immediately started to yell. "You weren't watching him? Nick, he's a trainee, what were you thinking?"

"I _wasn't_ thinking, okay? I just assumed there was an officer watching the perimeter."

"You just assumed?!" Sara spat. "How the hell could you be so stupid?!"

"Sara!" Grissom interrupted with a warning glance. "Not now. Nick, what happened after that?"

"I don't know." Nick looked guiltily at Grissom. "The next time I saw him, the gunman had him. Grissom, I'm sorry…"

"We'll talk about this later, Nick," said Grissom grimly. He turned to the detective standing silently behind him. "Vartann, when was the last time you saw Greg?"

The detective frowned. "To be honest, Grissom, once I saw him come barrelling out the door and puking in the dirt, I came back here. I figured he'd be a little embarrassed about it, so I gave him some space."

"What about the officer who was supposed to be watching the perimeter?" Sara demanded. "Where was he?"

"I don't know," Vartann admitted and turned back to the group of officers standing a few feet away. "Officer Thompson!" he barked. "Get over here, now!"

Nick stood up as the man who had shot at the gunman shuffled over to them. His anger started to boil over again. He wanted to know where this man had been when he was supposed to be watching the scene.

Officer Thompson avoided their eyes as he reached them. "Yes, sir?" he addressed Vartann.

"Where were you when Greg Sanders was taken hostage?" Vartann demanded. "Why weren't you watching the perimeter?"

"I needed to use the bathroom so I just stepped away for a bit," answered the officer uncomfortably.

"Did you tell anyone where you were going?" asked Vartann. The officer shook his head.

"GREAT!" Nick roared suddenly, making them all jump. "Greg was kidnapped because you needed a piss break!

"You were supposed to be supervising him!" the officer shot back angrily, squaring up to Nick again. "Where were you?"

As the two men moved towards each other, Vartann stepped between them. "I've had enough of you two!" he warned in a low voice. "You are _both_ at fault! Another one of these scenes and I'll make sure disciplinary action is taken against both of you, got that?"

The two men nodded, still glaring at each other.

"Good!" snapped Vartann. "Thompson, get back to the station. Captain Brass is going to want a detailed report on your actions on his desk by the end of shift."

"Yes, sir!" replied the officer as he started to walk away, still shooting daggers at Nick.

"I'll leave Nick to you," Vartann told Grissom and, with a disappointed look at Nick, he walked away.

Nick turned to Grissom at once. "Griss, I know I did wrong and I know I've acted unprofessionally here, but please, don't take me off this case! I need to find Greg. Please?"

"I won't take you off the case," Grissom replied. "But only because we have no one else."

Nick opened his mouth to say something else but Grissom cut him off. "We've got very little time…Sara, process the body out back and the surrounding area. Nick, you're with me. We'll cover the inside of the warehouse."

**xxx**

Over an hour later, Sara entered the warehouse to find Grissom and Nick at opposite ends of the building, obviously avoiding one another. Still mad at Nick, she made a bee line for Grissom.

"Grissom?" she addressed him. "I found Greg's kit and his camera in the next yard. "There were signs of a struggle and I found this in the dumpster beside it." She held up a bag containing the bloody wrench that Greg had discovered earlier.

"What was he doing over there?"

"He found a blood trail leading from the second body and followed it. At least, I think that's what happened. I'm guessing the blood came from this." She proffered the bag towards Grissom once more.

Grissom examined the wrench. "I think this was the murder weapon used on the first vic."

"You think Greg's kidnapper is our killer?"

Grissom nodded. "Nick told me the man was covered in blood, most of it cast off."

"Why didn't he leave the scene?"

"Maybe there wasn't time," Grissom mused.

"I also found this in his pocket," she added, holding out another bag.

Grissom accepted the bag from her outstretched hand and frowned. "This was on him?"

Sara nodded. "You think it's important?"

"It could be. Take it back to Archie, will you?"

"Where are you going?"

"To talk to Nick."

"Why?" Sara bristled. She was still seething at Nick for leaving Greg alone. She didn't care how tired he was…he could snap at them as much as he wanted so long as he was cautious at the crime scene!

"Sara, your anger at Nick is not helping right now!" Grissom reprimanded her. "And besides, don't you think he feels bad enough?"

Sara glanced over to where Nick's muscular figure was crouched on the floor. He had his head in his hands. She softened a little. "Maybe. But he should have known better."

"I think he's learned to be more cautious in future."

"It's a lousy way to learn a lesson," Sara told him flatly.

**xxx**

Nick was dusting for prints when he saw Sara enter the warehouse. She ignored him, moving over to where Grissom was working. Nick guessed she was still pissed at him and he could understand why…he was pissed with himself.

He stopped work and sat on his haunches for several minutes, staring blindly at the shelf in front of him. He just couldn't concentrate. All he could think about was Greg and what might happen to him.

_Or what may already have happened to him._

Nick swallowed, burying his head in his hands. He had never been so scared in his life. Tendrils of fear were winding themselves around his heart, squeezing the life out of it. His worst nightmare had come to life and Nick felt like he was falling to pieces.

_Why does this scare you so much? _the irritating little voice sounded again in his head.

_Get lost_! thought Nick savagely, returning his attention to his work. But his hands were shaking so much he dropped the print powder.

"FUCK!" he expostulated angrily, throwing the brush on the floor.

"Nick?"

He looked up to see Grissom standing there, one eyebrow raised. "Are you okay?"

"Fine," Nick muttered.

"Do you always throw your tools around like that when you're fine?"

Nick didn't answer and Grissom sighed. "Go home, Nick, get some rest."

"What? No! Grissom, I'm not going anywhere while Greg is missing! This evidence has to be processed!"

"Ecklie has given me days. Go home and get some rest, Nick, that's an order."

"But…"

Grissom held up his hand. "Nick, I don't want to hear it. You're exhausted and you know as well as I do that makes you useless. If you want to help Greg, then get a few hours sleep. Come back with fresh eyes."

Nick wanted so badly to argue but he knew there was too much logic in what Grissom said. _It was me being so fucking tired that led to all this in the first place! _he berated himself furiously. _If I hadn't been so fucking eager to finish the scene then I would have led him process the interior and he would be here safe right now! _

"Nick?"

Nick was shaking his head. "This is all my fault. I sent him outside."

"You didn't know what would happen."

"But I should have been more careful!" Nick burst out. "I should know better!"

"Nick, it's not your fault. You were tired and you wanted to get out of here quickly, we've all had nights like that. Now, go home and get some rest," Grissom finished firmly.

**xxx**

Loud shouting pulled Greg from his unconscious torpor. Somewhere in the fog he heard a door being opened and strong hands pulled him violently to his feet.

_What's going on? _he thought, as a vicious stab of pain ran through his head. He tried to open his eyes but all he could see was black. Greg started to panic slightly.

_Where am I? What's going on?_

And then he remembered. _The gunman_…

Rough hands were now pulling him along and Greg became aware of several voices shouting excitedly. His fear deepened. _There were more of them!_

He could see nothing with the tape over his eyes and stumbled several times, but the tight grip on each of his arms kept him upright. Greg sensed there was someone on either side of him.

Suddenly, they came to a halt and someone spoke. "Who is this?"

The voice was right in front of him and Greg jumped, startled.

Another voice sounded somewhere to his left. "He found me at the scene. I had to take him, it was my only way out."

"You idiot!" spat the first voice. "You bring him back here, in a police vehicle? Are you trying to lead the police to me?" The voice had a deep accent that Greg couldn't quite place, but the cold tones in this voice send shivers through him.

"You wouldn't let me take care of it!" the second voice accused and Greg realised that it was the gunman. "You insisted I come straight here!"

There were several seconds of silence before the first man spoke again. "Where is it?"

"Here."

Silence fell again and Greg could hear a faint tapping noise. As he tried to place the sounds in his head, a loud voice rent the air.

"THIS IS NOT IT!"

"What! Are you sure?" gasped the gunman.

"Do you think I am a fool?" snarled the first voice.

"No! But they showed it to me, I know it was…"

"Does this look like it to you?" the accented voice roared, followed by the sound of something smashing.

"Where is it? Where's the real disk?"

"That's what I took, I thought it was the real disk!"

"What do you mean you took it?" the accented voice demanded.

"They…they changed their minds," the gunman gulped. "They wanted more money…I had no choice."

"What did you do?"

"I killed them."

"Killed them?" repeated the accented voice dangerously. "Did you hide the bodies?"

"There wasn't time, the security guards showed up! I barely had time to…."

Suddenly a cry of pain tore the air and Greg jumped again. _What the hell just happened?!_

"Where is the real disk?"

"I don't know!"

"Are you lying to me, Alex?"

"No! I swear!"

"So you made this mess and you still didn't bring me the real disk? This is one too many mistakes, moÑ Åpyr."

"No!"

Greg had no idea what was happening and he wasn't sure he wanted to, but he could hear scuffling and the heavily accented voice commanded, "Get him ready!"

"Please don't do this," the gunman was begging now. "Give me another chance, I can get the disk…"

His pleas were cut off by another cry of pain and Greg went weak at the knees.

"I'm afraid you have disappointed me one to many times," said the cold voice carefully. "There will be no more chances."

Another loud scream of a pain made Greg shudder. He realised he was trembling and tried to block the cries of pain now emanating from the other side of the room. Suddenly, a hand was laid on his face and Greg jerked violently with fear.

A hand grabbed his hair and yanked his head forward. "We may need you yet, MonoÅoÑ oÅnh," said the heavy accent. "But for now, you may listen. And take note of what displeases me."

As painful screams filled the air, Greg cringed, trying to pull back in an effort to block out the sounds. His legs had deserted him and it was only the painful grip of the men on either side of him that kept him standing. The screams died out.

"Alex, you have never learned your lessons," the cruel voice taunted. "Too bad that the one lesson you do learn will be your last."

The screams sounded again and this time Greg could discern burning flesh. There was no way of masking that smell, Greg knew it only too well…Suddenly, the young lab tech retched and then gagged as the vomit hit the tape around his mouth. Half choking, he was forced to swallow it, but no one seemed to be taking any notice of him. Greg guessed they were all watching whatever was happening.

"I'm sorry to do this, Alex, I really am, but I will not tolerate ineptitude from my men."

The most awful scream Greg had ever heard in his life tore the air like a knife. It was hideous; loud, inhuman and filled with pain. Gulping and shaking, Greg realised he was crying…crying for the man who had kidnapped him. No one deserved this, whatever it was.

"P…please, Christ…of," the gunman whispered. "I can prove to you…"

"Prove? Prove what?" the evil voice repeated softly as another scream cut the air. "Alex, all you have ever proved to me is that you are a fuck up, a waste of time."

"No," a voice whispered. "I made…a mistake."

"You made one too many."

"No…please…" the voice was weak, fading. Greg heard nothing for several seconds and then another gasping scream sounded. It went on for a long time, until Greg's head was reeling with horror and he was on the point of passing out. Then suddenly there was nothing. Only silence.

Deathly silence.

"Lock him up!" the cold voice commanded dispassionately and Greg felt himself being dragged away. His legs no longer seemed to work.

**xxx**

Nick awoke with a jolt as he crashed off the couch. Disoriented, he looked around. _Someone had been screaming_…

It was the TV. Exhaustion had caused Nick to doze off in front of it. He sat up and stretched, trying to remember why he felt so wretched. And then it all came stumbling back to him like the remains of a bad dream.

Greg was missing.

Nick sat stock still for several minutes as the horrible memories clustered around him…_the gunman holding Greg tightly, a gun to his head_…_Greg's pale, scared face_…_Greg's eyes locking with his as he was forced to drive his own kidnapper out of there_…

Nick glanced at the clock on the wall.

_Ten AM. _

Quickly he reached for his phone and dialled Grissom. The second he heard the click, Nick didn't even wait for Grissom to speak before he asked, "Any news on Greg?"

"No. We found your car burned out off interstate 17 but there's no sign of Greg or the kidnapper. Sara finished processing two hours ago."

"Didn't you get anything new?" asked Nick desperately.

"We got an ID on one of the bodies in the Warehouse," Grissom answered.

"Great!" said Nick. "That should give us something."

Grissom didn't answer but Nick could hear something in his silence. "Grissom, what is? What did you find?"

"One of those victims was an FBI agent."

Nick's heart sank. "Have the FBI been notified?"

"They've already taken over the case."

"WHAT?!" Nick shouted. "But Grissom, we have jurisdiction! And what about Greg?"

Silence.

"Grissom, what about Greg?"

"They said he's not a priority."

Nick froze. "They…what?"

"The Sheriff is backing them the whole way. Apparently there's some threat to national security that gives them federal jurisdiction."

"And do we know what that is?" Nick was fighting to stay calm.

No. They've been keeping us in the dark so far."

Nick finally exploded. "What about all the evidence _we _collected? The prints? The bodies? My car?"

"All Federal property now, there was nothing I could do to stop it."

"So they expect us to just fucking sit here and let them take over while Greg is missing?" Nick was beyond himself with rage. "And you're going along with it?"

"I have no choice."

"Bullshit!" Nick spat.

"Nick, I'm doing everything I can!" Grissom's voice was weary. "The only way we can hope to get in on this case is if we act calmly and cooperate with them."

"I don't want to cooperate with them! I want to find Greg!"

"So do I!" Grissom snapped. "But the only hope we have of doing that is by solving this case!"

"We investigate it their way and we'll never find Greg!"

"I know! But we need access to the evidence if we're to help Greg and cooperation is the only thing that will get us that!"

"I'm not doing a damn thing they say!" Nick was mutinous.

"Nick, if you go against the sheriff's orders, you'll be suspended!"

"They can fire me for all I care!" the Texan snarled.

Stunned silence followed. It was several seconds before Grissom spoke again.

"Nick, the FBI want to speak with you. I suggest you get your act together before you come in." There was a click as the older man disconnected the call.

Nick stared in shock at the phone in his hand for several seconds before hurtling it across the room where it hit the wall and smashed into several little pieces. The crash startled him.

_What the hell was that? _he asked himself.

_You know what it was_, the little voice in his mind prodded. _You're scared! Terrified you'll never get a chance to_…

"No!" said Nick loudly, crossing the room and picking up the shattered phone. His hands were shaking. Disturbing feelings that he had forced himself to ignore were now screaming for his attention and, try as he might, Nick could not bury them this time. That annoying little voice, picking away at the back of his mind about his feelings for Greg, was refusing to stay quiet.

_You're being irrational, _the voice prodded. _Why do you think that is? If this were anyone else, you'd be at work calmly processing evidence instead of biting the head off the one man who can help! Why can't you just admit that you care about Greg?_

Nick gulped and sat down heavily in a chair. It was no good. The can had been opened and there was no putting the worms back; feelings that he had been suppressing for years crawled over him as memories long buried came back to haunt him. He could hear the distant voices of his past echo in his ear.

_Fag!_

_Queer!_

_Homo!_

Nick closed his eyes and felt the fists of hatred once more. He remembered the painful blackness that opened into shrill brightness and the disappointed ring of his father's voice…

_Oh, Poncho, why?_

Nick swallowed and gulped back tears as he tried to stop himself becoming that scared fifteen-year-old once more. He'd been so unsure of himself then, but he knew who he was now. He was straight and he was normal, dammit!

_You're normal, but you're not straight_. The voice sounded weary now. _You've got to stop lying to yourself, Nick, or you'll never be happy._

Slowly, Nick stood up and placed the shattered remains of his phone on the table. He stared at them for a long time. Like the broken pieces of his life, he couldn't fix it again; some things were beyond repair.

But his future was still whole…if he let it. It was time to stop hiding from himself, but could he fix the damage before it was too late?

moÑ Åpyr - my friend

MonoÅoÑ oÅnh - young one

_**A/N:**__ The Language Christoff is speaking is Russian. I have given a translation of the words used above. However, they are not an exact linguistic match (spelling is correct) as Russians write their 'N's differently to us, but my computer does not have the tools to do so. Apologies for that. And as always, please read and reviw! Thank you._


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

Greg was led away from the source of the disturbing scene and up several steps. They followed what could have been a long corridor when suddenly the hands pulled him to a stop. Greg could hear the sound of a door being unlocked and was then flung face forward without warning. He staggered and fell, landing painfully on his knees and smashing his right shoulder off the ground. As he struggled to sit up, he heard a door close somewhere behind him. Listening to the footsteps die away, Greg realised he was alone.

Trembling a little, he managed to push himself backwards until he hit a wall. He might not be able to see anyone approaching him from the front, but at least no one would be able to do the same from behind. He tried to loosen the ropes binding his wrists, but all he succeeded in doing was tearing the skin.

_Crap! _

He stopped struggling, feeling the warm trickle of blood between his hands. Resigned to the fact he was going nowhere, he lay his head back against the wall and grimaced. It was still throbbing horribly from the blow the gunman had given him earlier.

Miserably, Greg wondered if he would get out of this. He had no idea what was going on, or how things had gotten so out of control, but he knew that these men would not hesitate to kill him. After all, they had just killed one of their own. At least, it sounded like they had, but Greg couldn't tell without his sight.

He pulled his legs up against his chest. He had never been so scared in his life and he was really wishing Grissom had just left him in the lab tonight instead of sending him out with Nick.

_Nick._

A choked little sob escaped Greg's throat. _Nick's gonna be so pissed at me! _he realised miserably. _I screwed up so badly and I've made his shift twice as long!_

He knew how exhausted Nick had been when they had left the lab, and all he'd done was make a nuisance of himself. Greg sighed. He knew he'd been babbling in the Tahoe but he couldn't help himself. The easy relationship he'd always had with Nick had become very strained over the last two months…ever since he'd announced his intention to become a CSI. He wondered if Nick saw him as a threat, but then snorted into his gag. _Yeah right! I'm some threat!_

Greg shook his head. _Maybe he thinks I'm going to make him look bad? Screw up in someway?_

_You mean like tonight? _sneered a cruel voice in his head. _Well, you definitely did that! He won't look twice at you now!_

Greg sighed again and reminded himself that Nick was never going to look at him anyway. He was a straight Texas boy.

Trying to forget about Nick, Greg forced himself to listen to what was going on around him. The ropes and blindfold left him felling very vulnerable, and listening to his surroundings gave him at least _some_ sense of control. Straining his ears, Greg heard nothing. The men had obviously left him alone.

For now.

**xxx**

Nick took deep breaths as he walked down the corridor towards Grissom's office. He needed to stay calm. He couldn't afford to lose control again; he had work to do. But first he had an apology to make.

Raising his hand, he knocked on the door of Grissom's office. "Come in!" a voice called from inside. Tentatively, he pushed open the door and stuck his head around it.

"Grissom? Can I have…" his voice trailed off as he noticed the man and woman sitting in front of Grissom's desk. They were both tall and wore dark suits, and their grim countenances bore all the hallmarks of FBI agents.

"Nick?" Grissom glanced at him and Nick was struck by how exhausted he looked. "This really isn't a good time."

"Nick?" the woman's head shot up. "As in Nick Stokes? Oh, this is a perfect time!" She stood up. "Please, come in, Mr. Stokes."

Nick entered the room and she held out her hand. "I'm Agent Dobkins," she introduced herself then pointed to the man in the chair. "This is Agent West. We're with the FBI and we'd like to ask you a few questions."

"Such as?" Nick's tone was cold.

Agent Dobkins was unperturbed. "Can you tell us everything that happened at your crime scene last night, along with a description of the gunman?"

"Why certainly, Agent Dobkins," Nick answered, his tone slightly mocking. Grissom shot him a warning look and Nick hastily attempted to hide his hostility. Slowly, he described the events of the night before, while the two agents interrupted him a certain points to ask questions.

"Very good, Mr. Stokes," said Agent West when he had finished. "That was most helpful. Do you think you could take a look at some mug shots in order to assist us with our investigation?"

"I was under the impression that CSI were off the case," Nick answered edgily.

Agent West's steel-blue eyes narrowed. "CSI _are_ off the case, Mr. Stokes, but you are also a witness in this. We need you to identify the suspect."

"I'm not the only witness, there were several other cops there."

"None of whom got a clear view of the suspect," Agent Dobkins put in. "You can help us find the man who killed one of our agents."

Nick laughed.

"What's so funny?" demanded Agent West.

"You are," Nick answered, a cold smile on his face. "You really expect us to care about your dead agent?"

Agent West's expression twisted into a look of fury. "How dare you!" he snapped. "Ryan Kramer was murdered in cold blood tonight! I worked with that man for…"

"No! How dare you!" Nick cut him off, his tone low and more dangerous than Grissom had ever heard it. "You come here and take over _our_ case, expecting us to give full attention to your dead agent when one of our guys has been kidnapped and is out there somewhere! Who the hell do you think you are?"

"Now, Mr. Stokes, please," Agent Dobkins interjected smoothly. "Agent Kramer…"

"Agent Kramer is DEAD!" Nick said loudly. "But Greg Sanders could still be alive….you do know who Greg Sanders is, don't you? He's the lab technician who was just doing his job when some lunatic took him hostage! And you think I care about your agent who, it has to be said, was found dead under extremely suspicious circumstances! What the hell was he doing in that warehouse?"

"I don't know," Agent Dobkins admitted quietly.

"Didn't think so," said Nick bitterly. "Look, Agent Dobkins, if you want my help in this, then you're going to have to make Greg's safety a priority."

"We don't need your help!" sneered Agent West.

"Really? So you don't need me to look at those mug shots? Okay, that's fine. I'll just head home if I'm not needed here."

He started to leave but Agent Dobkins spoke up at once. "Wait!"

Nick turned and looked at her expectantly.

"She smiled ruefully. "Touché, Mr. Stokes. I'm sorry. We've been very callous about your colleague's abduction."

"Yeah, you have!" said Nick angrily. "Greg's just a trainee! He was kidnapped because the senior CSI and an officer at the scene didn't follow protocol!"

"But I thought you were…" she began and stopped as Nick pursed his lips. "Oh! I see. Well, Mr. Stokes, we will investigate Mr. Sanders abduction along with our…"

"Let us help," Nick interrupted.

"What?"

"I said let us help. Our lab is number two in the country for a reason, we have a very high success rate."

Agent Dobkins looked uncomfortable. "I'm afraid that's out of the question, Mr. Stokes. I'm not questioning your abilities, but a missing co-worker means you have too personal an interest in this case."

"Well then it should be even more personal to you. You're investigating the death of one of your agents," Nick pointed out. "Look, we're going to work ten times harder _because_ this case is so important to us. And two heads are better than one. Please, let us help."

Agent Dobkins studied him thoughtfully for several minutes. "Very well," she said finally. "You make a good point."

"What?" gasped Agent West. "You can't just let them…"

"Yes, I can, Graham!" she snapped. "May I remind you who is the senior agent here?"

The man closed his mouth and knit his brows together in a dark scowl. "Fine, but you can be the one to explain to the Director."

"Don't worry, I will," she told him curtly. Then she turned to face Grissom. "Mr. Grissom, you may want to gather your team in the evidence room. If they're going to be working this case, then I will need to fill them in on what we know."

**xxx**

Fifteen minutes later, Nick and Grissom were joined by Sara and Catherine in the evidence room.

"Catherine," said Nick in surprise and concern as he observed her bleary eyes and pale face. "Should you be here? I thought you were out sick."

"More important things to worry about, Nicky," she said hoarsely, giving him a weak smile. "The whole team needs to be here."

"Warrick finally got a flight back from Dallas as well," Sara interjected, giving Nick a small smile that let him know she had forgiven him. "He should be back by the next shift."

Nick smiled back. "That's good to know."

"Good. Everyone is here," the crisp voice of Agent Dobkins sounded behind him. Nick turned to face her and was surprised to see three other agents enter the room with her. Agent West was also there, scowling darkly.

"First, I believe I owe you all an apology," she addressed them. "It was wrong to keep you in the dark when this case was so closely connected to you."

The members of the graveyard shift nodded their acquiescence.

"I'm sure you've all been told that this case is a matter of national security," she continued. "That is true. I'm also guessing that you are aware of the memory stick Ms. Sidle recovered from Agent Kramer's body at the scene last night."

She paused and looked around, making sure she had their full attention. "That memory stick contains the plans to a new atomic bomb."

Nick's mouth dropped and he heard Sara gasp. He was sure that Catherine and Grissom looked equally shocked. Whatever they had expected, it was not this.

"Plans?" Catherine repeated. "What were they doing at that warehouse? What was your agent doing at that warehouse?"

"We don't know, but we have our suspicions," Agent Dobkins answered. "We have yet to identify the second body to help us in that manner, but the blood on the wrench found at the scene match that victim. The prints on the wrench, however, are a match to Alex Hanley."

"Who?" asked Sara, confused.

"I'll explain in a moment," said Agent Dobkins. "For now, I need Mr. Stokes here to clarify something." She turned to Nick who looked at her quizzically.

The FBI Agent glanced at one of the other agents who immediately handed a folder to Nick. "That folder," explained Agent Dobkins, "contains several pictures. I need you to look at it and tell me if you recognise the man who abducted your colleague."

Quickly, Nick took the folder and leafed through it. After several minutes, he found who he was looking for. "Here," he said, pushing the book back towards her. "This is the guy."

Agent Dobkins glanced at the picture. "You're sure?"

Nick nodded. "Yeah, his eyes were the same piercing green and he had the same small scar on his left cheek. Is it Alex Hanley?"

She sighed. "Yes. But I'm afraid this puts us in an uncomfortable position."

"What? Why?" demanded Nick.

"Alex Hanley works for Christof Providskey. We have had Mr. Providskey under our surveillance for quite some time. Unfortunately, he is both intelligent and elusive, we have never been able to get anything tangible on him."

"But _who_ is he?" asked Catherine.

"Mr. Providskey is an ex-KGB agent," Agent Dobkins replied. "He came to the US in 1993, not long after the collapse of the Soviet Union. On paper, he is an ideal citizen; well educated and successful. There are no records of any criminal activities, either here or during the Soviet regime."

"So why have you had him under surveillance?" Grissom wanted to know.

"Because of his associations with such people as Mr. Hanley," she replied. "Men who are known for their affiliations with crime lords and terrorists usually turn out to be so themselves. Last year, important documents were leaked from our defence department and we traced some of those leaks back to a scientist, Andrew Petrarch. However, before we could arrest and question Mr. Petrarch, he disappeared."

"We found evidence of correspondence with Providskey at his apartment," Agent West put in. "And evidence that he may have gone to see him the day he disappeared."

"Unfortunately, we were never able to find anything," said Agent Dobkins. "Mr. Providskey obviously has the ability to roll in the dirt but still emerge squeaky clean."

"What does that have to do with our case?" asked Nick.

"The plans on that memory key were also stolen last month," she answered. "The Director realised we had large scale leaks on our hand because very few people had access to those plans. They're military developed."

"I still don't see…" Sara began but Agent Dobkins held her hand up.

"Agent Kramer disappeared last week. When we received the news that you had discovered his body, we came straight down because it's the last place Mr. Providskey is known to have been."

"I don't understand," said Nick, trying to process the information. "This Providskey guy has never actually done anything, there's no evidence that he's even involved in this and yet, you seem to think he's guilty. Why?"

"Some people would consider his associations with terrorists proof enough that Mr. Providskey is up to something," she responded coldly.

"I'm not one of those people!" said Nick shortly. "And it sounds to me as though you only suspect him because of his past in the KGB."

Agent Dobkins' face grew dark. "Mr. Stokes, I don't like what you're insinuating. As I've already explained, Mr. Providskey is a suspect in the disappearance of Andrew Petrarch whom we suspected of stealing important documents. It is too much of a coincidence that he has turned up in the same city where our agent was killed and the missing missile plans have turned up."

"About these plans," Grissom interrupted. "How final are they?"

"They're complete," answered Agent Dobkins, turning to him. "They were the final draft and had already been presented to the defence department for testing."

"So shouldn't the defence department have a copy of these plans?" Sara wondered.

"They do, that's not the issue," replied Agent Dobkins. "The Bureau is more concerned with the leaks within the department, and the fact that these plans got out. We don't know if anyone actually has a copy of them."

"How bad would it be if they did?" asked Grissom.

"Apocalyptic," answered Agent Dobkins quietly. "The application to develop this weapon was turned down after the defence department ran a few calculations. Mr. Grissom, if this bomb were built and detonated, it would wipe out two thirds of the population of the United States."

**xxx**

Greg had been alone for hours now. His arms had gone numb from being bound so tightly and the ache in his head had not subsided. He was sitting with his head on his knees when he heard the door opening. Immediately, his head jerked up and he sat up straight. As footsteps drew near, he tensed, unsure what to expect. Suddenly, a rough hand ripped away the tape from around his mouth.

What is your name?" a voice demanded from somewhere above him. It was the man with the cold voice, the one Greg had heard the gunman address as Christof.

"Greg Sanders," he whispered, feeling it would be best if he cooperated with him.

"You are a police officer?"

Greg shook his head quickly. "No! I work for the crime lab!"

"A crime scene investigator?" the voice questioned.

"I…I'm training to be one."

"Such a little fish!" the voice sneered. "But you have caused quite a big splash."

"I haven't done anything," said Greg in a small voice.

He heard a slight _whoosh_ as the man crouched down beside him and grabbed his face. "I know. It is the other bigger fishes who are making the splashes because of you."

Greg was confused, not quite sure what he meant. "I don't understand."

"You will soon enough. Dimitri! Ivan!"

Suddenly, Greg was yanked to his feet. Rough hands cut away the ropes binding his wrist, and he felt a horrible stinging sensation as the blood rushed back to his hands. He could feel cold fear rising in the pit of his stomach. Were these men going to do to him what they had done to his kidnapper?

Heart thumping wildly, Greg felt two pairs of strong hands grab his arms. He could hear a gentle tapping and strained his ears to listen. Then Christof spoke.

"I need to speak with someone in charge."

There was silence for several seconds before Christof spoke again. "It's regarding Greg Sanders."

_He's making a phone call, _Greg realised. Then his heart gave a painful thump. _He's making a call about me! _

"Mr. Grissom, how very nice to speak to you," said Christof, after a long silence.

_Grissom_! thought Greg hopefully.

"Quite a bit," Christof answered. "But the first thing you need to know is that you will not be able to trace this call, so do not waste your time trying."

Greg's heart sank when he heard that.

"He's right here," Christof said, obviously responding to Grissom.

There was silence for several minutes and then Christof chuckled. "In a moment, Mr. Grissom, we have something to discuss first."

Silence fell again while Grissom responded.

"It's very simple, Mr. Grissom. You have something I want and I have something you want. I suggest we make a trade."

More silence.

"I think you know exactly what I am talking about!" said Christof.

Greg swallowed, wishing he could hear what Grissom was saying.

"So it was a memory stick," Christof's voice had lost it's gleeful tone and was once more cold and businesslike. "Well, if you want Mr. Sanders back, then I suggest you get it to me."

Silence fell again and Greg thought he would scream. _Just tell me what the hell is going on!_

"Of course," said Christof. "Just a moment."

Greg felt a phone being thrust up to his ear. "He would like to speak to you," Christof told him."

"Grissom?" said Greg uncertainly. He wasn't sure if Christof was serious and was startled when he heard Grissom respond immediately.

"Greg! Are you okay?"

"So far," said Greg quietly. "I'd really like to know what's going on though…" He felt the phone being taken away and bit his lip. They hadn't even given him a minute.

"You have your proof," Christof was saying coldly. Greg guessed he had the phone again.

"That is all you get!" Christof spat. "You know what I want. What is your decision?"

Greg's body was straining with nerves. What was he expecting Grissom to do?

"I was hoping I would not have to convince you of the gravity of the situation," Christof sighed.

Before Greg knew what was happening, the man on his left side yanked his arm back and up. He heard a loud pop and then cried out, as a searing pain tore through his left shoulder.

Immediately he attempted to raise his right arm to do something about the pain, but the man clutching his right arm kept it firmly pinned down. And all the while the man on his left kept pulling his arm back and higher above his head until Greg was bending forward and screaming in pain.

"STOP! PLEASE!" he screamed, and the man dropped his arm. His shoulder was on fire and his arm felt heavy. Greg gasped in agony and realised his shoulder had been dislocated. He was shaking with shock and fright.

The phone was brought to his ear once more. "I need you to say hello again," came Christof's voice, sounding pleased.

"Gr…Grissom…" Greg managed to gasp out.

"Greg! What is it? What did they do?" cried Grissom and Greg was frightened to hear panic in his supervisor's voice. Grissom didn't panic…

But that thought flew from his head as strong fingers came down on his injured shoulder and squeezed hard, crushing it. Greg screamed again as the phone was pulled away.

"That's just a taste," said Christof. "I guarantee it will be a million times worse if you do not deliver what I want. You have twenty-four hours."

There was a click and Christof addressed the men holding Greg. "Restrain him!" He had obviously hung up the phone.

Suddenly, Greg's arms were being pulled behind his back and ropes tied around his wrists once more. He bit his lip to keep from crying out but as one of the man yanked his injured shoulder cruelly, Greg yelled in pain.

_Bastards! _he though, trying not to cry. The pain was excruciating.

Strong arms grabbed him again and forced him to sit. Someone knelt beside him and he knew it was Christof.

"Little fish," the cruel man addressed him. "You had better hope the big fishes deliver what I want because what you heard last night will be nothing compared to what we will do if they do not!"

Greg tried to swallow the cold lump of fear in his throat. "I've done nothing to you, why are you doing this?"

"Because little fish always pay the price of the big fish. But I think you might be lucky, you are a more important little fish than you realise."

**xxx**

Nick peered cautiously through the open door of Grissom's office. There was no sign of the FBI agents.

"Grissom," he said, as his supervisor looked up. "Can I have a word?"

"Of course," said Grissom and indicated the chair in front of his desk.

Quickly, Nick slid into the room, closed the door and sat down in the chair. Grissom looked and him expectantly and Nick took a deep breath.

"Grissom, I owe you an apology," he began. "I was out of line the way I spoke to you on the phone and I'm sorry. It won't happen again."

Grissom nodded. "Good to know. You can't afford to lose your head over this case, Nick, no matter how personal it is to you."

Nick nodded, but didn't respond.

Grissom gave a slight smile and leaned back over his desk and started to write again. "Nice work convincing those FBI agents to let us help," he said.

"Thanks," replied Nick. "Although I'm still not sure why they're letting us help, I think they changed their minds awfully quick."

"Yes. Interesting, isn't it? I wonder how much they have actually told us?" said Grissom, his voice a little muffled from his position over the desk.

Nick nodded. "Me too. Although I'm surprised they've actually told us as much as they did, the FBI usually play their cards pretty close to their chest."

Grissom looked up at him again. "Makes you wonder what they're after, doesn't it?"

"You think they're after something?"

"I do, I just wish I knew what."

Just then the phone on Grissom's desk rang. He glanced at it before picking it up. "Yes, Judy?"

Nick watched as his expression grew grim. "Put him straight through," Grissom commanded. On his note pad, he scribbled something and pushed it towards Nick. Nick quickly leaned forward to read the writing; _Have Archie trace this call._

As Nick stood up, he heard him say, "Gil Grissom speaking."

There was a pause and then Grissom spoke again. "Who is this and what has this to do with Greg Sanders?"

Nick was at the door and froze, his hand on the door knob. Quickly he turned back to look at Grissom.

"Do you know where he is?" Grissom growled into the phone, gesturing frantically at Nick to get Archie. Nick yanked the door open just as Grissom demanded, "I want to speak to him!"

Nick rushed out and sped down the hall towards the AV lab. "Archie, get some tracing equipment into Grissom's office NOW!" he yelled urgently through the door before racing back to Grissom's office.

"I'm not sure I know what you're talking about," Grissom was saying as he re-entered the office. Archie followed closely behind and Grissom looked at him and pointed to the phone.

"Let me guess," said Grissom wearily, as Archie started setting up his computer. "You want the memory stick we found at the crime scene last night?"

Nick watched anxiously as Grissom frowned at the phone. "I want to talk to Greg. I want to know that he's okay."

"Greg!" Grissom exclaimed, several seconds later. "Are you okay?"

Nick lunged for the phone, so eager was he to hear Greg's voice, but Grissom waved him back. "It's probably best I don't…Greg? Greg! I want to talk to Greg again, that wasn't enough!"

Nick watched as Grissom pinched the bridge of his nose. "I know but it's not that simple. That memory stick is now in the possession of the FBI, I can't get it!"

There was a minute of silence and then suddenly, Grissom sat up straight. "What are you doing! No, stop!"

Nick froze as the colour drained from Grissom's face. "Grissom! What is it? What's going on?"

Grissom ignored him. He was staring wide-eyed at the desk, an expression of fear on his face. "Greg!" he shouted suddenly. "What is it? What did they do?"

This time, even Nick could hear the screams coming down the phone line and sprang to his feet. "Grissom, what's going on?" he yelled, trying to remain calm despite how hard his fear was fighting for control.

Again, Grissom ignored him. "What did you do?" he snarled into the phone. Then he blinked and took the phone away from his ear. Looking up at Nick and Archie, he shook his head. "They hung up. Archie, did you get a trace?"

Glumly, Archie shook his head. "There's was something scrambling the signal, I couldn't bypass it."

"Damn!" Grissom muttered.

"Grissom, what the hell just happened?" Nick demanded. "Who screamed? What did they do?"

"It was Greg, I don't know what they did."

"What? Why? Why would they hurt him?" cried Archie.

Grissom swallowed. "As an incentive, to show us they mean business."

"They want those plans, don't they?" asked Nick quietly.

Grissom nodded wearily. "And we can't give it to them."

_**A/N:** I think some people misunderstood Nick's father in the last chapter, he was NOT the one who beat Nick. But all of that will come out yet. Anyway, thank you to everyone who reviewed and please let me know what you think of this one!_


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

"What do you mean we can't give it to them?" Nick demanded angrily. "Grissom, didn't you hear that call?"

"Yes, Nick, I did!" Grissom retorted.

"Then how can you not _help_ him?!"

"Nick, even if my conscience would allow me to hand over the plans to a Nuclear Bomb that would devastate the entire country, how do you suggest I get them from the FBI?"

"But we can't just do nothing!"

Grissom put his elbows on the desk and covered his face with his hands. He didn't know what to do. He couldn't just leave Greg to die, but how the hell was he supposed to help him?

"Grissom?"

The entomologist took his face from his hands and stared at Nick. The younger man looked beyond panicked, and was looking pleadingly at Grissom for help.

Grissom sighed and turned to face the AV Lab technician who was staring dumbly at him. "Archie, could you please get Agent Dobkins and Agent West in here?"

"Sure, Grissom," said Archie and he left the room quietly.

"Why the hell are you getting _them_ involved?" Nick spat. "You know what their answer will be!"

"And do you have a better idea?"

Nick opened his mouth, then closed it. Silently he sank into the chair opposite Grissom's desk.

Grissom sighed again. "Nick, I don't like working with these guys any more than you do, but what choice do we have?"

"I don't _know_!" said Nick helplessly. "But we can't just let them…we can't leave Greg to…This is _my_ fault, Grissom!"

"It's nobody's fault, Nick," said Grissom quietly as a knock sounded on the door. "Come in," he called.

The door opened and in stepped Agent Dobkins and Agent West. "Mr. Grissom, I believe you were looking for us?" Agent Dobkins enquired politely.

Grissom nodded. "I just received a phone call from the man holding Greg Sanders. He demanded the memory key in exchange for Greg."

"Mr. Grissom, I cannot give him the memory stick," said Agent Dobkins. "I cannot trade millions of lives for just one man."

"JUST ONE MAN?" Nick roared as he jumped to his feet.

"Nick!" Grissom hissed, but Nick ignored him.

"You're telling me you'd leave Greg to die at the hands of these men?" he demanded furiously. "You're telling me he should pay for _your _Agent's mistake?"

Mr. Stokes! Calm yourself!" said Agent West at once. "The situation with Mr. Sanders is regrettable but…"

"SHUT UP!" Nick yelled at him. "Greg is not collateral damage and I won't let him become another one of your statistics! This is an FBI screw up and you'd damn well better fix it!"

"Or what?" snorted Agent West imperiously. "You'll shout us to death?"

"No," replied Nick, his tone suddenly quiet. "But I'd be willing to bet the FBI don't want these details leaked. I'm sure the general public wouldn't be too happy if they discovered that their government couldn't be trusted with such dangerous plans, and I guarantee that there would be outrage if they discovered that the government had developed such a weapon in the first place. Could you imagine the panic?"

"And how would such details be leaked, Mr. Stokes?" asked Agent Dobkins, her eyes narrowing. "Most people tend not to believe anonymous news tips."

"Maybe not," Nick answered. "But I'm sure they'd believe it from a well known Crime Scene Investigator."

"You wouldn't dare!" gasped Agent West.

"A statement like that would cost you your job, Mr. Stokes," said Agent Dobkins warningly. "I'm sure you don't want that?"

"It can cost me my career for all I care!" Nick spat.

Grissom and the two agents stared in shock at Nick.

"Nick," said Grissom urgently. "Think about this…."

"Oh, I've thought about this, Grissom!" snapped Nick, his gaze on the FBI Agents. "And I'm not willing to let Greg die to cover up their mistake!"

"Use your head, Nick!" snapped Agent Dobkins, getting angry for the first time. "Do you honestly think we can just trade millions of lives for Greg's?"

"So we should just leave him to die, is that it?" demanded Nick.

There was a long silence as Nick and Agent Dobkins stared one another down. Grissom had never seen Nick so angry or out of control before. It was like some mad fear was driving him, and had driven out all rational thinking. Even Grissom knew they could not sacrifice millions of lives for Greg.

Finally Agent Dobkins spoke. "Mr. Stokes, I cannot give you the plans. But," - she looked him straight in the eye - "I will do my best to help you find Mr. Sanders. I offer you all the manpower that I have along with the FBI resources. If we work together, we may find Mr. Sanders before any harm befalls him. Deal?"

She held out her hand. Nick looked at it but did not take it.

"And what if we don't find Greg? What then?"

She sighed and dropped her hand. "I _cannot_ give you those plans, Mr. Stokes, so I suggest you stop wasting time arguing and focus on finding Mr. Sanders."

"We've only got twenty-four hours," Grissom put in with a pointed look at Nick.

Nick swallowed the sick feeling in his gut. If this was all he had then he would have to take it. "Fine!" he spat.

Immediately Agent Dobkins turned a brisk countenance to Grissom. "Mr. Grissom, did you manage to trace the call?"

He shook his head. "Our lab technician tried, but they were scrambling the signal."

"Can you tell me anything about the caller? Or anything you might have overheard in the background?"

Again, Grissom shook his head. "It was fairly quiet. But I can tell you the caller was Russian."

"Now, how would you know that?" she asked, watching him with interest.

"My roommate in college was from Russia," he answered shortly. "I recognised the accent."

"So it may be our Mr. Providskey," she mused. "Lets see if we can track down any news on his whereabouts. Agent West, could you take care of that?"

"Of course," the man nodded and left the room, shooting a venomous look at Nick as he did so.

"Mr. Stokes," she said, turning to him. "Would you join me in the layout room? I'd like to go over the evidence with you."

"Fine," said Nick through gritted teeth. He would have preferred to work on his own and away from this woman, but she was calling the shots and he didn't have time to argue. Greg didn't have the time.

"Mr. Grissom," she smiled at Grissom who stared stonily back. "Could you work with your AV technician in trying to trace that call? He may not have got the signal, but maybe phone records?"

"I'm sure Archie is already doing that," replied Grissom, his tone thick with distain. "So why don't you just worry about the evidence?"

"Of course," she said, her teeth clenched. "Mr. Stokes?" She indicated with her hand for him to exit the room but Nick gave her a sarcastic smile.

"Oh, please, _ladies_ first."

She nodded and left the room, a brief look of annoyance crossing her face. Nick shot Grissom a look and followed after her.

**xxx**

"Mr. Stokes, can you pass me that picture of Agent Kramer's body, please?" Agent Dobkins requested politely.

Wordlessly, Nick handed her the file and she sighed.

"Mr. Stokes, I understand that you're upset about your colleague, but I really am trying to help. Could we at least be civil?"

Nick arched an eyebrow at her. He had managed to work in almost dead silence for several hours alongside Agent Dobkins, only stopping to grunt a response to her questions. He was well aware of his rudeness towards her - and of the fact that his mother would skin him alive if she caught him speaking to a lady like this - but he couldn't help it. This woman and her agents had played a large part in Greg's kidnapping, and he did not find it easy to forgive her.

But then he looked up at her and saw how exhausted she looked and reminded himself that she was at least _helping_ in the search for Greg. "Fine," he said gruffly.

She smiled sadly. "I know you think I am being very cold by refusing to give these men what they want, but you must see the position I am in. I am responsible for a lot of lives, Mr. Stokes."

"Yeah? Well, I'm responsible for Greg's!" said Nick shortly. "I'm part of the reason he's in trouble. The officer at the scene and the FBI have a lot to answer for too…in fact, the only one not at fault is Greg, but he's the one paying the price!"

"And I understand that, I really do," she said. "But you cannot just hand over the plans to such a deadly weapon to a terrorist….no matter how high the cost."

Something in her voice made Nick look up. Agent Dobkins was staring sadly at the evidence table, not really seeing its contents.

"You sound like you have some experience in the matter," Nick commented, his tone easier than it had ever been towards her.

She nodded. "I let someone very important, someone I loved very much, die because the alternative would have been hundreds of lives."

"I'm sorry," said Nick, shocked.

It was a long time ago." She shook her head and looked at him. He was watching her with a pained expression of understanding. "You care very much about this Greg, don't you, Mr. Stokes?" she asked softly.

"He's a good friend," Nick mumbled.

"Right." She studied him shrewdly. "A good friend."

They returned to their work in silence, neither one noticing the shadow lurking outside the door.

**xxx**

"Wake up, little fish!" a cold voice sneered and Greg felt a hard slap across the face. Startled, he jerked then groaned as pain tore through his shoulder.

The cold voice laughed. "I would suggest not moving, it will hurt less."

_Well, duh!_ thought Greg as he tried to arrange his stiff body into a somewhat less painful position without jarring his aching shoulder. He wondered how long he had been asleep; it had seemed like hours until he had finally passed out from exhaustion and pain.

A rough hand grabbed his jaw. "We have a phone call to make to your Mr. Grissom. It's time to see just how important you really are."

Greg felt his heart plummet as he heard the tapping of a number being dialled. Would the Crime Lab be able to help him?

"May I speak to Gil Grissom, please?" he heard Christof say. "He's expecting my call."

Silence fell for several minutes.

"Mr. Grissom!" Christof's voice broke the silence. "How very nice to speak to you again!"

Greg winced at the gleeful tone in the hard man's voice.

"I gave you twenty-four hours already," said Christof roughly. "There will be no more time! Now, what is your decision?"

Greg bit his lip, praying silently.

Then Christof tutted. "You disappoint me. I thought I had made my position clear?"

Greg's heart nearly stopped. Had Grissom just refused to help him?

"I think not, Mr. Grissom," Christof was saying. "You have made your decision!" The cold man hung up and silence fell.

Suddenly, Greg was being pulled to his feet. Rough hands yanked his injured shoulder but his apprehension was such that he barely noticed.

Then the tape was yanked off his mouth and the ropes on his wrist were cut. Greg immediately started to struggle. "Let - me - go!" he gasped, trying to hit the men with his good arm.

Several loud, masculine voices laughed. "Oh don't worry, little fish," Christof taunted. "You're not going anywhere yet, we have one more hand to play."

Greg felt himself being dragged out of the room. "Ugh!" he grunted in pain as one of the men pulled his arm. "Stop!"

They ignored him. He was pulled down a flight of stairs and dragged forward. As the men stopped, the young lab technician had a horrible feeling he was back in the room where he had first heard them torment the gunman. Suddenly Greg was shoved roughly against a wall; he struggled desperately, trying to kick the men, but stopped when one of them yanked his arm painfully.

"Do not be stupid!" hissed a thick voice he had not heard before. "What can you do against us?"

Greg gulped. He could feel his legs trembling uncontrollably and tried to make them stop. He wished he wasn't so scared but he couldn't seem to control it. He was terrified of what they would do.

But nothing happened, although Greg stood tensed and waiting. Then he heard the ringing of a phone. "Yes?" he heard Christof answer.

There was silence while Christof listened to whoever was on the other end.

_What's going on? _Greg wondered. There was an air of tension and watchfulness in the room, he could feel it.

"Good. I will contact him now," Christof proclaimed, before disconnecting the call. "We have one more call to make, little fish!" he sneered at Greg.

Silence fell yet again and Greg was aware of a number being dialled once more. He was utterly confused; now who were they calling?

He got his answer several seconds later when he heard Christof exclaim, "Mr. Stokes, I presume?"

_Nick! _Greg's jaw dropped. Why the hell was he ringing Nick?

"I think you know," Christof answered quietly. "I'm someone who has something very important to you."

Greg didn't have time to wonder what he meant. Christof was suddenly laughing and thrusting a phone in his ear.

"Say something!" the man commanded.

"Hello?" said Greg tremulously.

"Greg!" he heard Nick's voice, loud and panicking. "Are you alright?"

"I've been better," Greg confessed, but the knots in his stomach were slowly easing just from hearing Nick's voice. "I'm sorry I've caused you all so much trouble," he added in a whisper.

"You haven't caused us any trouble, Greg!" Nick exclaimed vehemently. "It's my fault you're in this mess! But I promise I'll do whatever it takes to get you back safe!"

"Whatever it takes, eh?" said Christof's voice as he removed the phone. He had obviously been listening. "That's good to know!"

Greg cringed as he heard the man roar with laughter. "Oh, very good, Mr. Stokes! But why would I want you as a prisoner, when I already have the perfect one right here?"

_He's offering himself in my place! _Greg realised.

But Greg didn't want Nick in his place and felt weirdly relieved when Christof refused. "No, Mr. Stokes, I think Mr. Sanders here is far more valuable to me. For one thing, I know _you_ would do anything to get him back!"

Greg's mouth fell open. _What?_

"You know exactly what I want!" Christof spat into the phone.

Greg was starting to feel sick. What exactly was he asking Nick to do that Grissom had refused to do?

Christof sighed. "I had a feeling you would say that, and as I told Mr. Grissom, that is not my problem! However, I'm sure I can provide an incentive for you to find a way around those restrictions!"

Suddenly, Greg found himself being pinned against the wall by many hands. He could tell something bad was going to happen and struggled uselessly. Then something sharp pierced his shoulder. Crying out in pain, he tried to pull away.

But the thing continued digging into him, _tearing_ into him, something sharp and hot and agonizing. It was a knife. Greg screamed as it travelled further and further into his shoulder. "STOP! STOP! STOP!" he yelled, trying to pull away from the God-awful pain.

But there was nowhere to go. Greg could feel hot tears spilling down his face through the blindfold as the knife continued its slow descent. "Arrrrrrrghhhh!" he screamed, feeling every inch of the knife as it sliced through his shoulder. He had never experienced pain like it. He would die just to make it stop.

"Please!" he begged desperately, gasping and panting. "PLEASE!"

Suddenly he felt the knife stop and hot breath assaulted his face as Christof leaned in and whispered cruelly, "Does that hurt?"

Greg nodded, whimpering and unable to speak. Then suddenly the knife was driven in fully and Greg heard the thump as it hit the wall behind him, impaling him. He moaned and sagged, nearly passing out from the sharp pain of the knife embedded in his shoulder and pinning him to the wall. Was this what if felt like to be crucified?

"Talk to your friend!" Christof demanded and thrust the phone at Greg again.

But Greg couldn't speak. The pain was too intense.

"TALK!" Christof roared and slapped him.

"Ni…Ni…Nick!" was all Greg managed to choke out through the blinding pain.

"Greg!" Nick was whispering. "Oh God…what did they…" Greg could hear him swallow. "Greg," he said again.

"Help me…" Greg pleaded then screamed again as the knife was twisted viciously in his shoulder. "STOP! PLEASE!" he begged his tormentors.

Christof took the phone from him. "I know how to keep a man alive and in agony for a very long time, Mr. Stokes," he said flatly. "It is your decision if that will be the fate of Mr. Sanders here. But just imagine him screaming like that for weeks…."

Christof's voice trailed off and Greg felt like he was going to vomit.

"So glad you see my point," Christof said, and Greg could hear the smile in his voice. He moaned in pain.

"You get the memory stick and I will contact you to arrange a switch," said Christof. "Oh, and Mr. Stokes, just one thing. Tell anyone about this and…." His voice trailed off and Greg felt the knife being yanked out and screamed again. Then whimpered loudly as he felt fingers digging into the wound, probing cruelly.

It was too much. Greg collapsed into darkness.

**xxx**

"You have ten hours," said the harsh voice. "And I will know if you have told anyone, just as I knew how to contact you!"

Then the phone went dead and Nick stared at it, shaking and leaning against the wall for support.

_This isn't happening_! he told himself. _This isn't real!_

He stared wildly around the parking lot, searching for some sign that this was all just a terrible nightmare when suddenly a horn sounded somewhere nearby.

The sound brought him crashing back to reality.

_It's real_…_oh God, did I just agree to hand over_…_Greg!_

Nick gave a half strangled sob and put a shaking hand over his eyes. Greg's screams were echoing in his ears. He would have agreed to slitting his own throat if it had made them stop, but how was he going to get those plans?

"Nick?" a deep voice sounded suddenly and Nick dropped his hand from his eyes.

Warrick Brown stood beside him, staring at him in concern.

"Are you okay?"

"Fine," said Nick weakly.

"Right," said Warrick, scepticism etched on his face as his eyes travelled over Nick's pale face, his teary eyes and his shaking hands. "And I suppose that's why you're out here?"

"I…I just needed some air."

"Grissom said you ran."

"What?" Nick stared at him.

"Right after he hung up the phone," Warrick persisted. "You ran."

"I didn't…how did you…"

"I got here just a few minutes ago," said Warrick. "Grissom filled me in."

"Oh."

"Why did you run, Nick?"

Nick stared at the ground. He had been in Grissom's office when the call came in. Hearing Grissom refuse to give Greg's kidnapper the memory stick had been the equivalent of hearing Greg's death sentence pronounced. The thought had been suffocating, forcing Nick to leave Grissom's office before he gave too much away. He'd found himself out here before he knew what he was doing, and then his phone had rang…

"What's going on, Man?" Warrick demanded. "What's the matter with you?"

"Nothing, I'm fine!"

"You're not," Warrick retorted. "Look, maybe you should go home, Nick."

"No!" said Nick quickly. He needed to be at the lab to get those plans. "Look, I just wanted some air, alright? I was upset…for Greg."

Warrick was studying him suspiciously.

"Seriously," Nick told him, trying to force himself to breathe normally. "I'm fine now, I just needed air. Look, maybe we should head back inside? See what the next plan of action is?"

"Okay," replied Warrick, looking slightly less suspicious. "Let's go."

As they headed back inside, Nick's mind was buzzing with thoughts of how he would get his hands on that memory stick.

_**A/N:**__ Sorry for the wait, chapters four and five are closely connected so I had to work out exactly how much I was going to put in each one. Also, I wrote this story as a challange and I am really struggling with it. Please read and review; I'm averaging nearly 300 reads per chapter but only two reviews so I would love to know what some of you think._

_And thank you so much to the people who have reviewed so far, it makes me feel better about this daft task I've set myself!!!_


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

For the next few hours, Nick pretended to help the team try and locate Greg; but he really spent most of that time trying to lay hands on the memory key. None of the others noticed that he had become suspiciously silent and co-operative; they were too caught up in their own worries for the missing lab tech.

But Agent Dobkins was watching him closely. Nick could feel her eyes on him at regular intervals and knew she didn't trust him. She would be his biggest problem in getting the memory key.

Agent West had located Christof Providskey's house; a large three story structure in Birchwood. Unfortunately the house had been empty and there was no clue as to where Providskey might be; Agent West was now chasing down suggested business associates in Vegas, but things were looking bleak.

Nick was getting desperate. He had just a couple of hours left until the kidnapper contacted him. He had to get those plans! But getting the memory key was proving to be more difficult than he had originally anticipated; there was always an FBI agent in the layout room with the evidence.

Nick was also troubled by the fact that the kidnapper had known to contact him and how. Having been stalked in the past, Nick was very wary about his privacy and gave his number to precious few people, and it disturbed him that this man had his number because it meant the only way he could have gotten it was from someone in the department. Nick guessed it was one of the FBI Agents; after all, the leaks had started there.

As he headed down to the layout room for the umpteenth time, Nick tried not to think about what he was doing. Fear for the consequences of his actions was gnawing away at the corners of his mind; weakening his resolve. Deep down, he knew he was doing the wrong thing but every time he hesitated, Greg's screams sounded in his head.

Entering the layout room, he found Agent West and Agent Dobkins engaged in a heated discussion. They seemed to be having some sort of disagreement but stopped as soon as he entered.

"Mr. Stokes," Agent Dobkins greeted him. "What are you doing here?"

"I just wanted to look over the evidence again," Nick lied. "See if there's anything I missed."

"We've been over this evidence several times already, what makes you think you'll find anything now?" snapped Agent West, giving Nick a hard look.

"There isn't much else I can do!" Nick snapped. "I'm just trying to find Greg!"

"You do realise that he's probably already dead?" said Agent West coldly.

"Graham!" snapped Agent Dobkins angrily. That's enough!"

He shot her a contemptuous glare. "Fine! But I've already told you what I think." With a final disapproving glance at Nick, he left the room.

She gave Nick an apologetic little smile. "I'm sorry about that," she said. "He's an excellent agent, but I'm afraid tact is not one of his stronger points."

Nick shrugged and moved over to the evidence table. He could see the bagged memory stick in the right hand corner, it was tantalisingly close. If only he could get rid of Agent Dobkins.

The agent in question was studying him closely. "Mr. Stokes, you look exhausted," she said. "Maybe you should go home and get some rest?"

"I'm not going anywhere," he told her flatly.

She nodded in understanding. "There may still be a chance that we can get Mr. Sanders back," she said softly. "I don't think they'll kill him yet, I think they'll try and use him again."

"Mmm," said Nick, pretending to study the evidence so she wouldn't see the guilty blush on his face.

Just then, Agent Dobkins' cell phone rang. "Excuse me," she said with a polite smile as she answered it. "Hello?"

Nick watched her closely as she frowned a little. "Oh, right. Just a moment." Putting her hand over the mouth piece, she addressed Nick. "I need to take this call, Mr. Stokes, do you mind…" she indicated with her head that he should leave the room.

Nick, however, pretended to misunderstand her. "Of course," he smiled politely. "You go on ahead and take the call." Then he bent over the table and pretended to read the notes Sara had made on the outside of the warehouse. He could feel the agent's irritated eyes on him and prayed silently. _Go_…_Go_…

Sighing, Agent Dobkins turned and left the room.

At once, Nick's head shot up. She was gone and there was no one in the hall; the coast was clear! Hardly daring to believe his luck, he snatched up the memory key and shoved it in his pocket. Quickly but without drawing attention to himself, Nick hurried from the room and down the hall to the front door, but stopped dead as he met Agent West at the Reception desk.

"Find something new, Mr. Stokes?" asked the agent snidely.

"No!" answered Nick, a little too quickly. "Ah…I'm just going home for a while."

"Home?" repeated the agent, staring at him suspiciously. "Why?"

"Agent Dobkins thought it might be a good idea if I got some rest," said Nick, cursing what he knew must be a guilty look stealing across his face.

"Right," sneered the agent. "Well, enjoy your _rest_, Mr. Stokes!"

"Yeah," Nick mumbled, as he hurried past him. "Thanks."

The night air felt colder than usual as he stepped out side and he pulled his jacket more tightly around him. Then he hurried towards the Denali that he had borrowed from CSI two nights before; his own truck had been destroyed by Greg's kidnapper. He quickly sat into the borrowed Denali and started it. Pulling out, he hoped the men would contact him and arrange a swap quickly. Mainly because he wanted Greg back safely, but also because he didn't want to give the FBI time to discover what he was up to. They would find him and stop him before he could rescue Greg, and probably arrest him. Not for the first time, Nick felt sick as he thought about what he was about to do.

As he stopped at a red light, he pulled the memory key out of his pocket and studied it.

_This thing contains the plans to a deadly nuclear bomb!_ The little voice in his head was awake again. _How can you turn it over to them?_

"They'll kill him," he said aloud to the empty Denali. "They'll hurt him, _really_ hurt him!"

_But what about all the other lives you'll be sacrificing? _argued the voice, and Nick realised that for some odd reason it sounded like Agent Dobkins. _Don't they matter?_

"I…I have to," Nick whispered. "It's Greg."

_Do you really think he would want you to do it like this? _persisted the little voice. _All those lives for his?_

Suddenly, a horn blared behind him and Nick jumped. The lights had turned green and a number of drivers were waiting impatiently for him to go. Forced out of his reverie, Nick put his foot down.

But he was disturbed as the enormity of what he was about to do crashed down around him. Could he do it? Even for Greg?

Just then, his cell phone rang and Nick pulled in to answer. "Hello?"

"Mr. Stokes," a coldly accented voice greeted him. "I just thought I'd check and see how that little task of yours is going?"

"I've got it," Nick answered.

"Already?" the voice sounded surprised. "I am impressed. Then all you have to do is turn it over and you can have your little friend back."

"No." The word was out of Nick's mouth before he'd even thought about it, surprising him.

"No?" repeated the voice. "Did I not make myself clear during our last conversation?"

"You did," said Nick. "But…what you're asking of me…surely there's another way?"

The man laughed coldly. "There is no other way. That memory stick is the only thing you can give me that will get your young friend back."

"I…I don't think I can," said Nick miserably.

There was silence and Nick held his breath.

"You disappoint me," said the man eventually. "I thought he meant more to you than some memory key?"

"He does!" Nick insisted. "But you're asking me to sacrifice millions of lives for Greg…"

"I'm not asking you to do that," said the voice soothingly. "All I'm asking you to do is give me the memory stick."

"But it's the same thing!" said Nick desperately, closing his eyes as he gripped the steering wheel.

"No, it's not!" snapped the voice. "You are assuming that I will use those plans!"

Nick was confused. "But if you're not going to use them, then why do you want them?"

"I have my reasons."

Nick swallowed. "How do I know you're not lying?"

"You don't," said the voice.

Suddenly the little voice sounded in the back of his mind again. _He's lying! He's already killed twice for this, not to mention what he's already done to Greg. This man doesn't care about human life, of course he'll use it!_

"Mr. Stokes?"

"Why can't you just let Greg go and take me instead?" asked Nick. "He's done nothing wrong, he doesn't _deserve _this!"

"There are many people in this world that suffer who don't deserve to," replied the man coldly. "Why should Mr. Sanders be any different?"

Nick didn't have an answer. He stared helplessly ahead of him into the darkening night. He was well and truly trapped.

"Of course, maybe you need another incentive?" suggested the voice.

"NO!" shouted Nick at once, but it was too late.

He closed his eyes and a lump rose in his throat as he heard feeble cries of pain wafting down the phone line. "Stop it," he whispered, exhaustion overwhelming him.

The voice sneered at him. "Stop it? Mr. Stokes, that is just a taste of what will happen if you do not give me those plans. I already told you what I am capable of! And there are other things, things some of my men would be only too happy to do…he is _very_ pretty…"

"NO!" Nick yelled in fear, his heart nearly stopping at the horrifying implication. "I'll do it, I'll give you the memory key!"

"A wise choice," laughed the voice. "I will meet you in one hour at _Seven_; it's a club just off Flamingo. You will bring no one, you will tell no one, you will do nothing except bring that key. Or the boy here will be the one to suffer!"

The sound of a dial tone echoed in Nick's ear and he buried his face in his hands.

**xxx**

"Time to go, little fish," sneered a voice from somewhere through the haze of pain and Greg groaned.

He had spent several long hours slumped against the wall, feeling the warm trickle of blood as it slowly dribbled from the wound in his shoulder. The men had not returned him to the room where he had spent the past few days, nor had they bound his hands. Instead, they had remained with him, talking in a harsh, thick language that he did not recognise.

He was trying very hard to maintain some semblance of sanity, but blinding pain and the continuing loss of blood was leaving him weak, cold and somewhat delirious. Strange thoughts were flitting around his head and he was finding it hard to distinguish between what were illusions and what was reality.

He had only heard part of Christof's second conversation with Nick, because to focus on it would have required more energy than he possessed. But he had felt the hands when they grabbed him, and he thought he may have cried out when hard, probing fingers dug into his shoulder again, but he couldn't be sure. He had passed out from the pain, but now Christof was slapping his face and bringing him around to face a reality he didn't want to feel.

The probing had stopped but the feeling of wriggling fingers still lingered, making him feel sick. His mind was foggy but Greg managed to ascertain that strong hands were holding him upright. Something was being wound around his head - his eyes specifically - and he realised they were taping them even tighter.

_Definite case of overkill! _he grumbled to himself.

Christof's voice sounded beside his ear. "You are as valuable as I thought, little fish…to Mr. Stokes at least!"

Greg gritted his teeth. "What did you make him do?"

"Nothing for you to worry your pretty little head about," Christof crooned. "Now, take these."

What felt like pills were pushed against his lips and Greg quickly closed them tightly against whatever they were trying to give him.

"Don't be stupid," said Christof, as a rough hand grabbed his jaw and forced his mouth open. Two pills were dropped into his mouth, but he tried to regurgitate them with his tongue. Then someone forced a bottle to his lips and he could taste water. "Swallow them!" Christof commanded, while Greg struggled to resist.

Water was spilling onto his clothes and dribbling down his chin, while he tried desperately not to take whatever they were giving him. With a massive wrench, he managed to tear his head away from the hand and violently spat the pills out. Another emotion besides fear was stirring inside him for the first time in days; anger. It was bad enough that these men had tortured him to get what they wanted, but now they were trying to drug him as well? Screw that!

"Fuck off!" he rasped, as he struggled furiously against the clenching hands. "You wankers, fuck OFF!"

"Well, well, well, the kitten shows his claws!" Christof sneered as the men howled with laughter.

With a thump, Greg found himself lying flat on his back. He could feel one of the men straddle his legs and pin both wrists painfully to the ground. Another held his head in place, while a third grabbed his jaw and forced his mouth open. Several pills were dropped into his mouth, followed by a rush of water and Greg gagged as the liquid slid down his throat taking the pills with it. He choked and spluttered while they forced more pills into him, and emptied what must have been left of the water because he felt it splash over his face and up his nose. Retching, he couldn't stop the last of the pills from gushing down his throat.

Silence fell and the men got off him. He could sense them standing up around him and staring down, waiting. They didn't have to wait long.

Almost immediately, Greg's tense body started to go limp. His already fragmented thoughts started to drift away and a thick black cloud descended on him. From a long way away, he heard Christof barking orders and the sensation of moving…and then the whole world went silent.

**xxx**

Nick entered the harshly pulsating club. Bodies were heaving and writing all around him, as music thumped and blared. Nick had no idea who he was supposed to be looking for and tried to see in the flashing lights but it was useless.

The club was dark, lit only by yellow, red, orange and green strobe lights that flashed and swung. It made a clear view of the club impossible and Nick felt disoriented and out of his depth as he started to circle the dance floor. He wished he had told someone where he was going - Warrick maybe - because there was nothing here to stop this man from killing him. Nothing.

A finger tapped his shoulder and Nick spun around apprehensively to face a tall, pretty brunette. "Hey, handsome, want to dance?" she smiled.

"Uh, no thanks," Nick muttered. "I'm meeting someone."

But the woman couldn't hear him over the music. Taking hold of his arm, she tried to drag him onto the floor. Frustrated, Nick pulled his arm out of her grasp and shook his head. Ignoring her disappointed face, he disappeared into the crowd, continuing his search.

He was interrupted again only minutes later by another woman who stepped in front of him and smiled invitingly. "Care to dance?" she purred in his ear, batting her eyelashes coyly. Nick shook his head, barely glancing at her as he stepped around her.

He had eyes for no one but Greg right now, and there seemed to be no sign of him in this writing, sweaty mass. What if the man didn't show?

Nearly half an hour passed and Nick was starting to get worried when someone grabbed him from behind. Immediately going on the defensive, he smashed back at his attacker and shoved them. The he spun around to face them.

A young blonde woman was staring up at him in fright, holding her bleeding lip. Nick's heart plummeted. "I'm sorry!" he said at once, moving towards her, his arms outstretched. Frantically, she shook her head and backed away, then ran off into the crowd.

_Nice move, Dumbass! _the little voice in his head sneered.

_Shut up! _Nick replied just as a strong hand seized his arm and spun him around. Nick came face to face with a tall, muscular man who looked like a bouncer and his immediate thought was that he was going to be thrown out for hitting the young woman.

"I'm sorry!" he shouted over the music at once, trying to pull away. "It was an accident! But she jumped me from behind and…"

Another hand seized his other arm and before Nick knew what was happening, he was being propelled backwards and out a door. Immediately a bag was dropped over his head and he was slammed against a wall.

"Where is it?" an accented voice demanded, but not the one he had heard on the phone.

"Where's Greg?" Nick shot back at once.

"Memory key first!" the voice insisted.

"Not until I know Greg is okay!"

"Search him!" commanded the voice and Nick felt hands tugging at his pockets. A smile of triumph graced his lips; they wouldn't find anything. Nick had not brought the memory key in with him, he had taped it to the underside of his car as a security precaution in case things turned nasty.

"It's not here!" said another voice.

"Where is it, Mr. Stokes?" demanded the first voice.

"You don't get it until I know Greg's okay!"

"You want proof? Fine!"

Nick was pulled away from the wall and dragged through another door. The sound of the music died away and he could feel cold air; he realised he was outside and his apprehension grew. Then suddenly a fist was driven into his stomach. Nick lurched forwards, and another fist smashed into his face. Dazed, he tried to fight back but a third blow crashed into the side of his head sending him sprawling onto the ground. As he lay there gasping and panting, he heard running footsteps and shuffling. Then he was pulled roughly to his knees and something hard was placed against the back of his head. Nick knew at once it was a gun.

"Mr. Stokes," a voice addressed him, and he recognised it as the one from the phone. "In front of you there is a portable computer. On it is proof that Mr. Sanders is alive. We will remove the bag from your head so you may see for yourself, but do not look around under any circumstance. I will kill you on the spot, leaving the delightful little Greg to the mercy of me and my men. Do you understand?"

"Yes," spat Nick through a swollen upper lip.

The bag was yanked of his head and Nick blinked several times. He was in a dimly lit and secluded alley. In front of him lay a lab-top computer with the word 'play' flashing on the screen.

"Play the video, Mr. Stokes," said the voice and Nick did as commanded.

A website with a dark image burst onto the screen. It was Greg, blindfolded and chained to rusted, metal pipes. His right shoulder was bleeding heavily and he was slumped forwards, apparently unconscious.

"You bastard!" snarled Nick. "What did you do?"

"He's not dead," replied the voice, unconcerned. "I merely gave him something to keep him out until you came riding to his rescue. I imagine he's in quite a bit of pain." There was a cold bark of laughter.

Nick stared dumbly at the screen. Greg's chest drifted up and down slightly, he was breathing and alive in this image but they could have killed him after they had filmed it. "How does this prove Greg is still alive?" he asked, unable to take his eyes from the horrible image.

"It's a live feed," replied the voice.

"Where is he?" demanded Nick. "I want to see him!"

"I'm afraid he is not within our range," smirked the voice. "I had to leave him somewhere isolated because I did not trust you...as you did not trust me! But I will tell you where he is once you tell me where the memory key is."

"No! I tell you and there's nothing to stop you killing us both!"

"I have no interest in killing either of you!" growled the voice. "All I want is that memory key! Tell me where it is and I will tell you where you can find your young friend, but if I do not get it then you will neversee him again. I assure you, Mr. Stokes, I am a man of my word."

Nick hesitated, unsure what to do. His instincts were screaming at him not to trust this man, but he would have no other choice if he were to get Greg back.

"How do I know you won't kill us?" asked Nick, trying to decide what to do.

The voice sighed. "I thought you were a CSI? If I were interested in killing you, I would have let you see our faces. As it stands, you cannot see me to identify me."

"What about Greg?"

"Poor boy," he laughed. "He knows even less than you! He has been blindfolded since he came to me. He doesn't even know what this is all about!"

Nick fell silent; he could think of no other questions.

"Mr. Stokes, all I want is that key! As a show of good faith, I will even tell you that Mr. Sanders is out in the northern part of the desert."

Nick still didn't answer and so the man added, "Of course, we could go back out there now and take care of him. Some of the men here are _dying_ to have a go at him…but on the bright side, I doubt he'd last long!"

The men all roared with laughter while Nick tensed and clenched his fists. He couldn't do it, he couldn't leave Greg at their mercy…to do whatever they pleased. Swallowing hard, he closed his eyes and said, "Alright. The memory stick is taped to the underside of my car."

"Very good, Mr. Stokes," said the man softly, as the bag was dropped over his head again. "You have made the right choice. I will send one of my men out to retrieve the memory key. As soon as I have established that it is genuine, I will tell you where to find your friend."

"FBI! FREEZE!" a voice yelled suddenly and Nick was aware of light flooding the alley, even through the bag over his head.

"DROP YOUR WEAPON, PROVIDSKEY!" screamed a second, more familiar voice. With a sinking heart, Nick recognised it as Agent West.

Then someone clouted him hard across the back of the head and Nick, still on his knees, fell face forwards to the ground. Chaos was breaking out around him. He could hear running footsteps and scuffling, followed by several loud bursts of gunfire. His heart hammering, Nick stayed down until the noise died off. As an acrid smell of smoke filled his lungs, Nick heard a faint voice saying, "Cuff 'em!"

Quickly, he dragged himself into an upright position and yanked the bag of his head. Two men were being cuffed by police officers and a third lay on his back, bleeding from a head wound, his eyes open but unseeing.

A fourth man lay on the ground beside Nick, gasping and wheezing while blood gushed from his chest.

Their eyes met and the man's face twisted in a terrible look of fury. "You…fool!" he hissed.

Nick knew at once who he was and dived forward, trying to stop the blood from blossoming out of the man's chest. "Where's Greg?" he demanded urgently, trying to ignore the nauseous feeling that rose within him as dark blood trickled through his fingers.

"I will tell…you nothing…liar!" snarled the man weakly.

"I didn't lie! I know nothing about this! Please, tell me where he is!" Nick begged desperately.

"I…keep…" the man choked and blood appeared at the corner of his mouth.

"I NEED A PARAMEDIC!" Nick screamed as the man started to jerk and twitch.

Someone dropped down beside him but he didn't even look to see who it was. "This had nothing to do with me…where is he, please!" Nick pleaded with him.

The man's white face contorted into a pained and grotesque smile. "I told you…I'm a man of my…word!" he hissed, blood dribbling from his mouth. "You…will _never_ see…him again!" Suddenly his eyes went wide as a great rattling gasp shook his whole body, then he went limp and still.

_**A/N:**__ Is it possible to really, really despise something you've written? I think I'm getting there with this, no matter how much I twiddle with the chapters, I still think they're absolute drivel! If I weren't so pig-headed about finishing the damn thing..._

_Anyway, huge 'thank you's' to everyone who's reviewed so far, it's made me feel that this story really isn't a complete waste of time and it's nice to know that at least some people like the story! _


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

Nick could only watch in horror as the life drained from Christof Providskey's eyes. Without realising what he was doing, he moved to shake the man, almost as if he could restore life, but strong arms held him back.

"He's dead, Nick, let him go," said a deep voice and Nick turned to face Warrick.

"He never told me where to find him," Nick told him blankly.

"I'm sure one of the others will know," said Warrick, jerking his thumb over his shoulder to where two large men were standing stony-faced as Agent West read them their rights.

His anger flaring as he glanced at the men, Nick scrambled to his feet and rushed over to them. "Where is he?" he shouted. "Where's Greg?"

The men remained silent and Nick wanted to shake them. "WHERE IS HE?"

"You'd better calm down, Mr. Stokes," said Agent West coldly. "These men will be interrogated back at the station according to protocol."

"To hell with protocol!" Nick snarled. "I want to know where Greg is!"

"STOKES!" shouted Agent West and Nick stopped dead. "I am telling you to calm down now! And consider yourself lucky that I'm not arresting _you_!"

"But Greg's hurt!" Nick argued. "We might not have much time."

Agent West merely shrugged, retaining his usual impassive expression. Nick was just on the verge of throttling him when a cool, collected voice sounded behind him. "Gentleman, do you know where Mr. Sanders is?"

He spun around to see Agent Dobkins staring at the two prisoners. Her face was oddly flushed as she stared down the silent, reticent figures standing before her. There was no answer and so she repeated her question. But the men merely glared mulishly back at her. She sighed. "Gentleman, I am willing to offer you a deal if you tell us where Mr. Sanders is, otherwise you are looking at twenty-five to life for kidnapping, murder and conspiracy to treason!"

The taller man frowned before answering. "Christof and Ivan went into the desert with him." - He cast his gaze to the bodies on the ground - "Our orders were to wait at the club for Mr. Stokes. We did not see where the took him."

Nick felt his heart plummet. "But you must have some idea where they took him!"

The taller man glared at him reprovingly and gave a disparaging shake of his head. "I tell you, we did not see."

"Alright," said Agent Dobkins. "Take them down to the station."

Nick turned away and bowed his head under the weight of crushing disappointment. He had been so close. As his eyes dropped, his gaze fell on the object that Warrick was now crouched on the ground examining.

"Don't touch it!" Nick cried and Warrick withdrew his hand quickly as though he had been burned.

"What?" he demanded indignantly.

Nick ignored him and dropped to the ground, carefully setting the portable computer the right way up. It was undamaged and the word play was once more flashing up at him. Tentatively Nick pressed the button.

The image of Greg filled the screen once more and Warrick gasped.

"Providskey said this was a live feed," Nick told him. "Maybe we can get Archie to track the signal?"

"Good idea," said Warrick, getting to his feet and carefully picking up the computer with his gloved hands. "Lets get this back to the lab."

As the two men set off down the alley, Agent West stepped in front of them, his arms crossed. "And where do you think you're going?" he demanded.

"Back to the lab," said Warrick coolly. "We may have a lead on how to find Greg."

The Agent barely glanced at the screen. "And what about the crime scene? It has to be processed."

"Well, it's like you told me on the way over here," Warrick replied. "This case belongs to the FBI."

"Which means that computer does too!" snapped the agent angrily.

"Are you telling me you'd keep it here and just leave Greg to die?" asked Warrick furiously, his eyes flashing. "What kind of a man are you?"

"One who is altogether too dedicated to his job," answered Agent Dobkins as she joined them again. "Agent West, let these men return to CSI with the computer; an innocent life depends on it. But, Mr. Stokes, please keep in mind that I will want to question you about this evening?"

Her glance was stern but Nick thought he could discern sympathy in her eyes. Sympathy and a touch of something else. He didn't have time to wonder, Warrick was tugging impatiently on his arm. With a quick smile of gratitude, Nick turned and followed him out of the alley.

They took Warrick's Tahoe. Warrick kept a careful hold on the computer while Nick drove. He was restless and agitated, terrified that Greg might die before they had time to find him, and he kept stealing glances at the screen every time they stopped at a red light.

"You're really worried about him, aren't you?" asked Warrick, who had been watching him intently.

"Yeah, I am," replied Nick, avoiding his eye. "I suppose that's how they knew it was me when they discovered the memory key was missing?"

Warrick nodded.

"How did they know where to find me?"

"GPS. All Department vehicles are equipped with one. You should know that, Nick."

"Guess I never thought of it," Nick admitted. "So who's idea was the big bust?"

"The FBI. They tracked you all the way to the club. Only problem was, they couldn't send anyone in because no one was dressed to blend with the crowd. West was freaking, he thought they'd get the plans and escape."

"Then why did they chance letting me enter the club?" asked Nick, confused. "What if they'd gotten the plans and then left?"

"That was the idea," said Warrick grimly. "They wanted to catch Providskey with the plans, then they would have had something on him!"

"And they got a full scale confession from him!" said Nick bitterly. "I'm guessing they taped the whole thing?"

Warrick nodded. "They sent Agents up on to the roof of the club and the building beside it right after you entered."

"So me getting roughed up was just a little bonus for them, right?"

"Actually, Nick, you still hadn't told them where to find the memory key," said Warrick uncomfortably. "They needed to know where that was too."

"Of course they did!" Nick rolled his eyes. "Let those guys kill me and leave Greg to die so long as the FBI get their precious plans!"

"Nick! You know as well as I do how dangerous those plans are, they had to be sure they could get them back safely."

"And what if it hadn't been Providskey? What if it had been someone else? The deal could have taken place inside the club and then the guy could have just waltzed out with the plans, did they think of that?"

"No," Warrick admitted. "But Agent Dobkins was convinced it was Providskey, and she was the one running the whole operation so…"

"So they took the risk anyway," Nick finished. "Wonderful. And these are the people we trust with those plans?"

Warrick couldn't think of anything else to say because, despite his arguments, he agreed with Nick. The two men lapsed into silence until they reached the lab. Once there, they immediately headed for the AV lab to give Archie the computer. Grissom was already there and he fixed Nick with a cold stare as Warrick handed Archie the computer.

Can you get a trace on the web address?" he asked.

Archie's eyes widened slightly as he took in Greg's slumped form on the screen, but he nodded his head. "Sure. Only thing is, tracing the ISP could take some time."

"They told me he was in the northern part of the desert. Does that help?" asked Nick.

"Yeah, yeah it does actually!" Archie turned away from them and immediately began to work on tracing the signal.

Turning back to face Grissom who was still glaring at him, Nick tried to defend himself. "Grissom…"

"I don't want to hear it!" his supervisor cut him off. "What you did could have put millions of lives in jeopardy. You acted without thinking of the consequences and you not only broke procedure, you _stole_ from the FBI. Nick, you're lucky they haven't arrested you!"

"Yes, interesting, isn't it?" Nick shot back. "Why haven't they arrested me? And why did they let us get involved in this investigation in the first place? Aren't you at all curious how I arranged this with the kidnappers?"

"No," said Grissom shortly.

"So you're not interested in knowing how those guys got their hands on my phone number when I only got the new one yesterday?" Nick asked quietly. "I broke mine two nights ago, remember? Not many people have my number."

Grissom's eyes narrowed. "What exactly are you trying to say, Nick?"

"I think one of those agents is involved in this."

There was stunned silence for a moment before Warrick spoke. "Nick, think about what you're saying…if one of the FBI agents were involved, then how do you think they were able to take those guys by surprise?"

"I don't know," Nick replied. "But I think it's pretty suspicious that out of all the CSI's, they knew to contact me! And they got my damn number when I haven't even given it to my parents yet!"

"So who has your number?" asked Warrick.

"I registered the change of number yesterday evening when I came on shift," Nick answered.

"Which means anyone with access to the staff files could have gotten that number," Grissom sighed.

"And can you think of anyone here who would do that?" asked Nick, cocking an eyebrow at Grissom.

"No," he admitted.

"Which leaves someone in the FBI," Warrick finished. "Damn, this thing goes way up!"

"That doesn't excuse your actions, Nick," Grissom pointed out.

"Maybe not…but I'm still not sorry! Those guys are in custody and we've got our first actual lead in finding Greg. I'm not going to apologise for that." Nick's face was red as he turned away from them to study the image once more.

Grissom fell silent, and he still did not look pleased as he moved to study the video feed with Nick. Warrick hung back, his eyes fixed thoughtfully on Nick's back. But Nick was unaware of this, his attention wholly concentrated on Greg once more.

The image looked worse the more he studied it. He noticed for the first time that one of Greg's shoulders had been dislocated, it was slumped horribly lower than the other, and he was gagged. He also realised that Greg had been tied to the pipe, not just chained to it, his arms stretched uncomfortably behind him. The ruthlessness with which the men had restrained the injured lab tech caused a violent rage to surge inside Nick, making him wish he could tear them limb from limb.

_Fucking bastards! _he snarled inwardly, his fingers itching in anger.

Grissom however, had another worry. Unlike Nick, whose attention had been focused solely on Greg, Grissom had studied the young lab tech's surroundings and come to a disturbing conclusion. "He's outside!"

"What?" Nick turned to stare at Grissom.

"Look at the screen," said Grissom, pointing. "That's sand he's sitting on, and those shadows are the product of natural light. You can also see the barest hint of a breeze."

Nick stared at the screen horror-struck. "It's the middle of January, it's fucking freezing out there!"

"Thirty-nine degrees Fahrenheit," said Grissom unhappily. "And at the rate he's losing blood from that wound…"

"Archie, how long before you get a trace on that signal?" demanded Warrick urgently.

"Maybe another fifteen minutes," replied Archie seriously. "But what I'm getting so far…he's more than an hour out!"

"Depending how long he's been out there, we might not have much time!" Nick spun around to face Grissom who was staring at the screen in concern.

The entomologist opened his mouth to answer when Archie spoke again. "Guys, he's waking up!"

**xxx**

It was cold. That was the first thing that registered with Greg as he came out of a drug-induced haze. Bitter cold. He couldn't feel his fingers, but he was painfully aware of the sharp goose bumps rising on his arms through his flimsy shirt.

The second thing that occurred to him was that he couldn't move. His hands were bound tightly behind him, the ropes digging into his already tender skin. He tried to struggle but heard the clang of metal on metal and slowly became aware of something heavy lying across his chest. _Chains! _he realised.

Miserable and defeated, he slumped back. Nausea engulfed him and he suppressed a desperate need to gag. His head pounded with a dull pain making the sickly feeling so much worse. To take his mind off the urge to be sick, Greg tried to evaluate his surroundings. Reason told him that he was outside. Aside from the bitter cold, he could feel the wind biting at his face and what felt suspiciously like sand beneath him. His heart sank. _I'm in the desert!_

Another surge of nausea swept through him and Greg gritted his teeth, trying to suppress the gag reflex. He guessed this was a side effects of the drugs he had been forced to swallow. Breathing slowly through his nose in an effort to control it, Greg kept his head back against the wall behind him and wished they had given him something with decent side effects…preferably something with a funny little hallucination because he could have used a laugh.

Part of him hoped he would slip back into the welcome release of unconsciousness, although logic told him this would be a bad idea; what if he didn't wake up again? But the desperate need to close his eyes was stronger than reason and he felt himself start to succumb to the exhaustion pulling at him. He was halfway between unconsciousness and sleep, and his hands were so numb, that it was several minutes before he realised something was biting his fingers. Something scurried over his legs and he heard a squeak as he jerked awake. His fingers brushed against something sickeningly slick and furry.

_Rats! _

With a muffled cry of disgust, he started to jerk his arms, ignoring the roaring protests from his shoulders as he tried to get rid of the horrible creatures. Then something bit down hard on one of his hands and he smacked at it violently, crying out as pain surged through him.

Revulsion stronger than anything he had ever experienced washed over him as he felt not one but two furry somethings scuttle out through his arms and over his stomach. A third one ran over his legs and Greg lost control in his panic.

_FUCK OFF! _he screamed silently as he bucked against the chains and kicked out desperately with his legs. His foot connected with something and Greg heard something smash. He froze.

_What was that?_

The squeaking noises grew fainter as the rats disappeared. Breathing heavily and trembling, Greg leaned against the wall again. He wondered what he had kicked, and what had caused the noise.

But as exhaustion and dizziness washed over him, Greg faced another problem; how to stay awake. Because he was damned if he was going to fall asleep and become rat dinner.

**xxx**

"What just happened?" Nick yelled as the image on the screen disappeared. His hands were shaking at what he had just witnessed; Greg freaking out as rats crawled over him.

Archie looked pale as his fingers flew over the key board. "I think Greg might have kicked whatever was filming him when he panicked."

"Did we lose the signal?" asked Grissom. Archie nodded and Nick groaned.

"Don't worry," he reassured them. "I think I can backtrack on the signal from the site and pick up the ISP from there. But it's gonna take longer and…"

"What?" Nick demanded as he saw Archie hesitate. "WHAT?"

"I'm not going to be able to pinpoint exactly where he is," Archie admitted softly.

"How near can you pinpoint it?" Nick demanded.

"Probably a ten mile radius, maybe less if I'm lucky," answered Archie miserably.

"Shit!" exclaimed Nick, as he turned away and ran his hand through his hair in frustration.

Grissom was quick to reassure him. "Don't worry, we have other leads. Look at those pipes, they're part of something." He pointed at the screen. Nick and Warrick also looked at it and realised he was right; they could make out the shadow of a large concrete wall just behind Greg.

"There must be a very limited supply of pipes above ground in the desert," commented Warrick. "That could make it easier to narrow his location."

Grissom nodded. "When Archie has narrowed the location as much as he can, we can study the city plans to see where we can find facilities to fit that criteria."

"And what do we do in the meantime?" snapped Nick. "By that time…"

Grissom froze him with a look. "I'm aware of how long it will take. Catherine and Sara can start on the plans while I talk to Brass about having the search team ready to roll."

"But it will still be at least half an hour before we even leave," Nick argued. "Grissom…"

"You and Warrick can leave now," Grissom interrupted him again. "Start heading North out of the city. I'll call Warrick's cell as soon as we have a location."

Some of his restless frustration melted away at the thought of action and Nick gave Grissom a grateful smile. "Okay, thanks, Grissom."

As Nick left the room, Warrick turned to the other two men. "Work fast, guys."

Grissom nodded. "Of course. And, Warrick, do me a favour? Keep an eye on Nick, I don't trust him to keep his head once he gets out there."

With a quick nod of acquiescence, Warrick left the room. But his thoughts were grim as he followed after Nick. There was something very strange going on with his friend and he resolved to have a serious talk with him about it.

**xxx**

The cold was getting worse. As the hours drifted slowly by, Greg could feel himself turning into something resembling a human block of ice; his blood felt like it had turned to ice and he could no longer feel his hands. He couldn't remember ever being this cold.

_I'd kill for a cup of coffee right now! _he thought longingly.

Shifting and trying to make himself somewhat comfortable, Greg wished he didn't feel so alone. He almost wished the rats would come back again so he would have some company. Almost.

It was getting harder to stay awake. The drugs the kidnappers had given him were still rampant in his system. He could feel it in the unnaturally weary exhaustion of his limbs and the sick, surreal feeling in his head. They were making it very hard for him to distinguish between what was real and what was imaginary; there were even moments when Greg wondered if he had lost consciousness.

Anyone less tenacious would have given up long ago. His body had all but shut down, and the only thing keeping him awake was his very stubborn will to live and the hope that someone would come soon.

His eyes closed and with superhuman effort, Greg yanked them open. In an effort to stay awake, he tried singing, allowing the muffled, garbled sounds to filter through the gag. There was something cheering about the sound even though it took a lot of effort to do it, and so for several minutes, he sang inarticulately through the gag. The strangled sounds brought the first smile to his face in days.

But then he heard another sound, one that made him stop singing and sit up. It sounded like a faint wail and Greg wondered hopefully if it were sirens.

But an answering wail from very nearby made his blood run cold. Those weren't wails, they were howls!

_Coyotes! _he realised with horror.

Straining to listen, he sat very still and tried to remind himself that ninety-eight per cent of coyotes do not attack humans.

_But what about the other two per cent? _asked a nasty little voice that he tried to ignore.

The howl sounded again, uncomfortably near and Greg thought he heard soft padding on the sand. Wishing desperately that he could see, he tried to remain very still and not panic. _Coyotes don't attack people! They don't attack people!_

But it was very hard to keep telling himself that when they were so distressingly near and he was chained to a pipe.

Straining to listen, he could almost hear the desperate beating of his heart before a growl broke the silence. It was almost right in front of him and he jumped. He was chained to the damn pipe with no way to defend himself! If the coyote attacked he would be in serious trouble.

The animal was now sniffing around his feet. Greg could hear it growling and shuffling, and so he stayed very still while sweat trickled down the side of his face. _Please, God, please_…he prayed fervently.

The animal was sniffing at his ankles now, its growling growing more pronounced along with Greg's fear. Then suddenly it pounced, seizing his ankle between its teeth. As the coyote shook its head viciously, Greg cried out and kicked it with his free leg. It let go briefly, but then seized his leg again and started to pull with renewed vigour, yanking him downwards and putting an excruciating strain on his shoulders as his body was tugged away from the pipes.

Desperately, he kicked the animal harder and repeatedly, trying to force it to let go. One particularly brutal kick caught it in the face and with a whimper, the animal retreated. Shaking and sweating, Greg shuffled back until he was fully upright again. His breathing was coming in fast, ragged gasps and he tried to quieten it; he needed to hear where the coyote had retreated to. A low grumble told him it was moving towards him again and he slowly pulled his legs to his chest ready to kick out if it attacked again.

But then he heard another growl to his right and froze. There were two of them! He wanted to cry with fear and frustration, but instead steeled himself for another assault. He was trembling uncontrollably now and tried to swallow his fear; but it was a difficult thing to do with the threat of attack so near.

The animal on his right pounced first, sinking its teeth into his arm, right below the knife wound. As Greg gave a muffled scream, the second one seized hold of his leg again and pulled. Kicking out as hard as he could, he whacked the animal tearing at his leg. There was a loud crack followed by a whimpering, and the beast go. Greg quickly turned his attention to the coyote trying to rip his arm off. But no amount of kicking, pulling and thrashing would dislodge its teeth. The creature just snarled and held on tighter, its teeth digging in until Greg felt like it really was being ripped off.

He was starting to weaken. The other coyote sensing this moved in again, and Greg felt its teeth tearing through his leg once more. He tried to kick it again but his efforts were feeble now and the animal pulled his leg forwards as though he were a rag doll. Then the other animal gave a ferocious snarl and yanked him the other way; both animals now fighting for mastery of their prey. Greg felt like he was being torn apart as they pulled him in separate directions.

Agony surged through him and his world turned red. Something twisted its way around his lungs and Greg found he could no longer breathe. The animals were ripping him apart and he couldn't breathe!

A sudden loud bang shattered the frenzied snarls of the coyotes and they released him, running howling into the night. But Greg was aware of none of this as he lost his battle with unconsciousness. The hazy red darkened to black and Greg Sanders felt the world close in around him.

_**A/N**__: Thanks a million everyone who's reviewed so far (and don't worry, I might hate the story but it is nealy finished...I'm too stubborn not to finish something!), you've eased some of my doubts about this fic, although I'm still dubious about it. Anyway, here's chapter six, hope you like it! And please read and review!_


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

Nick's fingers were white as they gripped the steering wheel and his foot was pressed as near to the floor as the speed limit would allow. As the car left the bright lights of Vegas and moved into the dark of the desert, he unconsciously increased his speed.

"Hey, man, slow down!" he heard Warrick exclaim from the passenger seat and jumped. They had driven in silence all the way from the lab and Nick had almost forgotten he was there.

"Sorry," he muttered slowing down.

"Alright, that's it! What's up? What's going on with you?"

Nick shot Warrick a quick glance. "What are you talking about? There's nothing going on."

"Crap!" Warrick expostulated. "I've seen you lose your cool and do plenty of stupid things before, but nothing like this!"

"You're imagining things!" Nick snapped. "I'm just worried about Greg, same as everyone else."

"No, not the same as everyone else. You've been on edge ever since I got back from Dallas and Vartann told me that you nearly decked an officer at the scene after Greg was kidnapped-"

"Because he fucked up and GOT Greg kidnapped!" Nick snarled.

"Yeah, and it was up to his supervisor to deal with it!" Warrick snapped back. "And Grissom told me how you've been acting and the things you've been saying, not to mention that stupid stunt with those plans! Didn't it ever occur to you that those guys could just take the plans and kill you?"

"Well, what else was I supposed to do?" demanded Nick. "Just sit back and do nothing?"

"Nick, you've seen countless hostage situations go bad over the years because the police couldn't deliver what the kidnapper wanted; sometimes the cost is just too high."

"So you would have left Greg to die?" asked Nick in a low voice.

"No. But I definitely wouldn't have given them the plans, too many lives were at stake."

Nick fell silent.

Warrick sighed. "Why'd you do it, man?"

Nick didn't answer him. He _couldn't _answer him. He was having enough trouble accepting it himself. It wasn't easy to forget years of conditioning, no matter how hard his heart was arguing against it.

"Nick?"

"I can't…I don't know how…It's complicated, Warrick."

"Really?" Warrick hunched down in his seat. "That's funny, 'cause from where I'm sitting, it looks like you might have feelings for Greg."

Nick nearly lost control in his shock and the car swerved wildly across the road. "Eyes on the road, Nick!" Warrick yelled.

Nick slowed down and regained control of the car. "Sorry. It's just…how did you…" his voice trailed off. He had no idea how to continue this conversation.

Warrick wasn't exactly comfortable with it either. "Look, Nick," he began then hesitated, rubbing his forehead. He had no idea how to approach this. "You haven't exactly been acting like a…concerned co-worker. You've been so irrational and scared. At first I just thought it was because you and Greg are such good friends, but then we got that video feed…"

He stopped, searching for the words. "When we got the video, you were…you couldn't take your eyes off Greg and you looked so _desperate_! Like you'd do anything for him…" Warrick shook his head.

"Has everyone guessed?" asked Nick. He was too exhausted to deny anything.

"I don't think so." Warrick chanced a glance at his friend. "Am I right?"

Nick gave a curt nod and Warrick exhaled through his teeth. "Fuck! How come you never-?"

He was interrupted by the ringing of his cell phone. Quickly withdrawing it from his pocket, he snapped, "Brown!"

His expression became business-like at once and Nick glanced at him anxiously. "Is that Grissom?"

Warrick nodded and held his hand up for silence. "Okay," he said. "We're about thirty minutes from there…sure…and how long…okay. Thanks, Grissom, see you soon."

He hung up. "They've got a location. An old sewerage treatment plant about three miles off US 93. Paramedics are on their way but we'll get there first."

Without a word, Nick increased his speed.

Silence fell in the car once more as they headed further into the desert. It was a long time before anyone spoke; Warrick was the first to break the silence.

"How come you never said anything, Nick?" he asked quietly and Nick thought he detected a touch of hurt. "You should know that I don't care if you're…"

"Gay?" Nick finished, when Warrick hesitated. "Yeah right. You can't even say the word!"

"Well, it's kind of a lot to process right now!" snapped Warrick defensively. "Considering I've spent the last seven years thinking you were straight!"

"So did I," Nick admitted softly.

"What?" Warrick was confused. "But…"

Nick sighed. "It's a long story."

"We've got time."

"I'm not…" Nick's voice trailed off as he caught a glimpse of Warrick's expression. It was confused but understanding. He sighed. "Alright. But do me a favour…don't interrupt? I've never talked about this before and I'd kinda like to get it out before you ask any questions, okay?"

"Fair deal."

Nick sighed and ran one hand through his hair. "I was fourteen when I first started to think that I might be different. All of my friends had had their first kiss, but the girls at school just left me cold, even the really pretty ones. I just figured I'd feel it when the right girl came along."

Nick swallowed as he stared at the road ahead. "Then came high school. I was a freshman when I made the football team; it made my Dad so damn _proud_ of me!" he spat the word and Warrick was surprised to hear the bitterness in his voice.

"Halfway through the year, we had a transfer from Ohio called Jerry Knox. He was a senior and could he play football! He was the fastest running back I've ever seen. He'd already nailed a football scholarship to Berkeley when he arrived in Texas." Nick stared reminiscently ahead. "He made the football team straight away. There were complaints from some of the other guys at first, but Jerry was such a great player that it didn't last long."

Nick tightened his grip on the steering wheel as the past unfolded in front of him in vivid detail. "I hadn't realised what I was until Jerry arrived - none of the locker room jocks ever stood out for me - but Jerry…"

Warrick could hear Nick swearing softly under his breath and bit his lip uncomfortably. It was weirdly unsettling to think of Nick as gay, but he was also feeling a little ashamed of thinking that way. He would have to chose his words very carefully when Nick finished his tale.

"When I shook hands with Jerry the day I met him, I felt sparks," Nick continued. "I'd never felt anything like that before! It excited me and it scared me, but that didn't stop me from thinking about Jerry every night…" Nick felt himself blush as he realised what he'd just admitted, but Warrick's face remained impassive.

"I told no one - people just don't talk about homosexuality in Texas except to condemn it and it was a million times worse back then - so I just tried to forget about it. But then one night after practice, Jerry gave me a ride home. He lived near me so I just thought he was being friendly."

Nick's voice had dropped to a near whisper by now and Warrick had to strain to hear him. "A sudden thunder shower came down on the way home, really heavy rain, you know? The kind that you can't see the road in, so Jerry pulled in to let it pass. We were talking and listening to the radio and then suddenly, we were kissing." Nick gave a little shiver. "I'm still not sure how it happened but that kiss was…really something. And it was such a relief to know I wasn't alone."

"Nick, I'm sorry to interrupt but you need to turn off here," said Warrick suddenly, pointing at a little dirt road that Nick had just passed. He had nearly lost track of their route while telling his tale.

"Sorry," said Nick quietly, reversing back and turning off.

The truck trundled down the dirty track and it was several minutes before Nick took up his tale again. Warrick waited patiently, sensing that Nick needed to take this at his own pace. His voice was soft when he took up the story again.

"After that, Jerry and I met up whenever we could, in secret of course, where no one could see us. That was his idea. I guess he knew better than me what would happen if we were found out. But we weren't careful enough."

Nick's eyes were suspiciously bright now and Warrick looked away uncomfortably. "We were seen by Ted Adams, all round jock and my best friend since I was six years old…the bastard told the entire team."

A horrible chill descended on Warrick as he guessed what was coming next.

"They jumped me one evening after school," Nick continued. "Beat the living shit out of me, I blacked out. Woke up in the hospital two days later with three broken ribs, a fractured femur, shattered wrist and severe concussion."

Warrick gave an angry hiss before he could stop himself and Nick gave him a small smile. "I didn't know what had happened or who I was those first few days, just drifted in and out of consciousness. My Dad was sitting beside my bed on the first day that I woke up coherent. I expected him to be sympathetic, but…" Nick gave a bitter laugh. "He was so cold and disappointed. He'd found out the reason behind my beating and told me right there and then that Jerry was dead and that _God_ had given me a second chance to repent for my sins so I'd better take it."

Warrick couldn't stop himself from reaching out and patting Nick's arm as a single, solitary tear rolled its way down the Texan's face.

"I managed to put the whole story together from the garbled gossip that was floating around. They jumped me first, but were interrupted by some other students; probably the only reason they didn't kill me. They got Jerry later that evening when he was out for his run…" Nick choked. "They didn't just…beat him, Warrick. They…they cut…" He couldn't bring himself to say the words but he didn't need to, Warrick's horrified expression told him he knew exactly what Nick was trying to say.

"He bled to death," said Nick softly. "Before anyone could find him."

"Jesus! Fuck!" exclaimed Warrick, trying to get his head around the nightmarish tale that Nick had just told him. "What about…did those guys get punished?"

Nick shook his head and his face was full of a hurt bitterness that almost took Warrick's breath away. "They got away with suspended sentences and community service because they were considered minors. And it didn't help that half the town, including my father covered most of it up!" He was shaking now as the torturous feelings of hurt, anger, fear and betrayal washed over him again.

"Damn," said Warrick softly, feeling both anger and pity.

Nick was quiet for several minutes while he tried to collect himself before continuing. "I moved schools and everything was hushed up. I swore that I would never put myself in that position again, so I found a nice girl like my father wanted and dated her for a year or two. By the time I left Texas, I believed the charade and lied to myself to stay safe. And that worked pretty well until a couple of days ago when Greg got kidnapped. It awoke all the old fear again, except this time I was afraid of what I'd never get to say instead of what I might say."

"I'm sorry, Nick," said Warrick quietly. "You have no idea how sorry I am. I wish that had never happened to you."

"You…you don't hate me?" Nick was startled.

"Nick, why would I hate you?"

"Well, I'm…because I'm…gay."

Warrick laughed. "That has to be one of the most stupid things I've ever heard you say!"

Nick was confused. "What?"

"You Dumbass!" said Warrick. "I couldn't give a crap if you're gay."

"You're okay with this?" Nick was dumbfounded.

"Of course I'm okay with this! I'm not gonna pretend I wasn't a little freaked at first cause I was, but…you're still Nick. You're still the same guy you've always been, just with slightly different tastes, that's all."

Nick nearly crashed the Tahoe as he stared at Warrick. "But…But…"

"Things are different here in Vegas, Nicky, you know that," said Warrick softly.

He was stunned into silence unable to believe it. Years, he'd spent years hiding from who he really was because of the terror some bullies and his own father had instilled in him at the age of fifteen. He was almost angry with himself, he had thought he was smarter than that.

_But it's easy to frighten a confused teenager into believing a nightmare_, he reasoned. _Especially if they've just lived it_.

"Nick, stop!" said Warrick suddenly.

Nick slammed on the brakes and turned to look at the other man. "What?"

"I think we're here," said Warrick, pointing out the window at a large, grey building that was almost hidden behind a large hill.

Without even turning off the engine, Nick jumped from the truck and took out his flashlight. As he started towards the building, he heard what sounded like snarling from the other side. His heart nearly choking with fear, Nick ran for the back of the building with Warrick in hot pursuit.

As he rounded a corner, he froze in horror. Greg was still chained to the pipes and being pulled like a rag doll by two ravenous coyotes. Heart hammering wildly, Nick raised his gun and fired into the air.

The bang was loud in the silence of the desert and startled the two animals. They raced into the night howling dismally. At once Nick dropped his gun and raced towards the immobile figure. "Greg!" he cried fearfully.

Throwing himself on his knees, he sought frantically for a pulse. He was nearly sick with relief when he felt a faint throb. Quickly, he tore off the gag around Greg's mouth and struggled to remove the tape from his eyes, but it was too tight.

"Easy, Nick," came Warrick's soothing voice as he dropped down beside him. "Let me." Taking a scissors from his vest pocket, Warrick sliced neatly through the tape and gently peeled it away from Greg's eyes. They were closed and his face was like marble.

"Greg?" Nick whispered as he reached out and touched the cold cheek. There was no response. He looked up at Warrick in despair.

"Paramedics are on the way," Warrick reminded him gently. "In the meantime, we need to get those chains off him."

Nick glanced at the sturdy chains that were glittering in the torchlight. "How?"

"I might have something in the truck that will cut them. I'll go have a look, you stay here with Greg."

Nick nodded and returned his gaze to the silent lab tech. His eyes travelled over the pale face, the bloody clothes and the skinny frame that was wracked with shivers. Quickly he shrugged off his jacket and placed it over his friend.

"Greg?" he said softly. "It's me, Nick. Can you hear me?"

His heart ached when he got no response. "You're safe now. Warrick and I, we're going to get you out of here. And the paramedics are on their way, so you just hang in there, okay?"

Silence.

"Greg, please say something." A suspicious burning was starting in Nick's eyes. He reached out and touched Greg's face again, but then quickly withdrew his hand. The touch made him long to fling himself on Greg and hug him tightly and not let him go, but the other man's condition was too frail for such treatment and Nick didn't trust his own restraint right now.

So he remained on his haunches, crouched over the half upright form. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm so sorry. Please wake up."

Nick had missed Greg's presence terribly over the last few days, but only now, crouched beside this silent ghost, did he realise just how much. He longed to hear Greg's voice.

"You have to wake up, I need to tell you something," he pleaded softly, the lump in his throat making it hard to speak. "It's very important."

"I'll do anything if you wake up," he continued when Greg didn't move. "You don't even have to speak, just open your eyes so I know you're okay."

A rational voice in Nick's head was telling him that Greg couldn't hear him, but he was too far gone to listen. "Please, Greggo, I'm begging here. When was the last time you heard me beg?"

Something wet slid down his face but Nick never noticed. "You know, if this is your way of punishing me for being an ass at the crime scene then it sucks! I've already said I'm sorry." His eyes raked over the exhausted features. "Greg, please."

"Nick?"

He jumped and looked around. Warrick was back, his arms loaded with a large blanket and his kit. A large saw was perched precariously on top.

"I called Grissom. Paramedics will be here in ten minutes," Warrick informed him, setting the stuff on the ground. "Can you support Greg while I cut the chains?"

"Okay." Nick reached under the chains and slid his arms around Greg. Once he had a firm grip on the younger man he nodded to Warrick.

A horrible metallic screeching filled the night air as the big man started to saw at the chains. He put as much force as he could muster into it, and in minutes the chains started to fray and snap. One by one they slid slowly to the ground, and when he was done, Warrick unwound them carefully from around Greg.

Greg's upper body now free, Nick was able to prop his head against his shoulder and get a tighter grip around his back while Warrick took out a knife and hacked at the ropes that twisted his arms around the pipes. His heart was hammering at their close proximity and it took all his restraint not to bury his face in the younger man's hair.

Finally, Greg was free. They lay him gently on the ground and covered him again with Nick's jacket just as he groaned.

"Greg?" said Nick at once, as the younger man's eyes flickered open.

"I'll get some water," said Warrick and shot off back to the truck.

"Nick?" Greg whispered. "Is that you or am I still out?"

Nick gave a half-laugh, half-sob. "It's me. How do you feel?"

"Like I've died," Greg croaked and closed his eyes again.

A lump filled Nick's throat and he took one of Greg's hands in his. "You're not dead, G, you're going to be just fine. I promise."

As the faint wail of approaching sirens could be heard, Nick was unable to stop himself from twinning his fingers with Greg's. The younger man didn't open his eyes again, but Nick could have sworn he felt the lightest of squeezes in return.

_**A/N:**__ I'm sorry for the long wait for this chapter, but work and life got in the way of editing. The next chapter won't take quite long. And thank you to all the incredible, wonderful people who reviewed the last chapter. It's helped salvage some of my feelings towards this story! Thanks again, and please let me know what you think of this one!_


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

Throbbing pain woke him. Moaning, Greg opened his eyes only to find himself painfully dazzled by the brightness. Quickly he shut them and waited for a few minutes before trying again.

Forcing his eyes open, he squinted against the light and slowly the sleeping figure of Nick Stokes came into view. His head was back and his mouth was open as he snoozed in a chair beside Greg's bed.

_Why is Nick in my room? _Greg wondered, then realised he wasn't in his room at all. He was in hospital. It didn't help his confusion. _How did I get here?_

All he could remember was violence at the hands of Christof and his men. The excruciating throb in his shoulders reminded him of that. But he had no idea how he had ended up in the hospital with Nick Stokes sleeping by his bed. Not that he was complaining; aside from the pain, it was one of the nicest things he could picture waking up to.

He studied Nick. Was it his imagination or did the older man's face look a little strained? There were dark shadows under Nick's eyes, his clothes looked rumpled and there was stubble several days old on his face. What had happened?

Reluctant to wake Nick but needing to know what had happened, Greg tried to call his friend. However, all he managed was some sort of pitiful croak. He swallowed hard in his parched mouth and tried again.

"Nick."

It didn't sound like him at all. The voice coming from his mouth was weak, cracked and inaudible, a shell of his former voice. But it was enough to wake Nick. Startled, he shot up in his chair and stared at Greg like he'd seen a ghost.

"Greg! You're awake! How do you feel?"

"Been better," Greg croaked and swallowed. God, his mouth was dry. "Water?" he whispered, looking pleadingly at Nick.

Without saying a word, Nick reached for the jug of water on the table at the end of the bed and poured some into a glass. He slipped a straw into it and tilted it towards Greg so he could drink.

Lifting his head slightly, Greg managed to gulp down some water before his head plopped back onto the pillow. Even such a simple movement had left him feeling exhausted. "Thanks," he mumbled.

"Anytime," said Nick, putting the glass back. "Do you need anything? How's your shoulder?"

"Hurts."

"I'll ask the doctor for something," said Nick at once. He stood up and left the room. Within minutes he was back with a nurse who smiled kindly at Greg before emptying the contents of a syringe into his line.

"There," she said patting Greg's arm gently. "That'll help. If you need anything, just ask Nick to get one of us."

"Okay, thanks," he mumbled, wondering why Nick was on a first name basis with the nurse.

With a quick glance at Nick, she left the room. The Texan sat back into the chair again, his eyes on Greg. "Need anything else?"

Greg shook his head and closed his eyes. He felt so tired but he needed to know what had happened. "How'd I get here?"

"We found you in the desert. You've been pretty out of it for a few days."

"What happened?" Greg mumbled, trying to stay awake. He could already feel the effects of whatever the nurse had given him.

"It's a long story," answered Nick softly. "I'll tell you when you're feeling better."

"You're staying?"

"Yeah, I'm staying. Get some rest, Greg, we'll talk later."

"'Kay." Greg stopped fighting the urge to sleep. There was something oddly comforting about knowing that Nick would be there when he woke up.

**xxx**

Nick watched Greg sleep and felt at ease for the first time in over a week. The first few days in the hospital had been extremely rough for the young lab tech. The knife wound had caused serious damage to his shoulder, requiring immediate surgery to stop the bleeding, despite the fact that Greg had been suffering from dehydration and hypothermia. Unfortunately, the risky surgery coupled with the coyote bites had caused an infection to set in and Greg had spent the first three days in the ICU.

Nick hadn't left the hospital once, having begged Grissom into allowing him to take some holiday time. He guessed there was some serious gossip circulating in the lab about his motives for doing so, but found that he really didn't care. All he wanted was for Greg to be okay.

Swallowing hard, Nick studied Greg's face and felt a familiar cold choking him; it was the feeling he got every time he remembered how close he had come to losing him.

Tentatively, he reached out for Greg's hand but jumped as his cell phone rang.

"Stokes," he answered quietly.

"Hey, Nick, how's Greg?" Warrick's smooth voice sounded on the other end.

"He just woke up," Nick replied. "But he was in pain and the nurse gave him something so he's out again."

"Yeah, it'll probably be a while before he's up to talking to us," Warrick conceded.

"Why would he need to talk?" demanded Nick at once.

"Because we haven't found Alex Hanley yet," Warrick reminded him.

"You can find Hanley without Greg."

"Maybe, but…" Warrick hesitated and Nick felt apprehension.

"But, what, Warrick? What's going on?"

"We think you might have been right about the FBI being involved. One of those guys we arrested told us that Providskey received a phone call suggesting they use Greg to force you to steal the plans."

"What!" Nick exploded and then hastily lowered his voice. "Did they say who?"

"No. They claim they don't know who it was. Only Providskey talked to the mole and he never revealed their identity."

"If he even knew who it was," Nick muttered angrily. "So if his guys don't know, why would you think Greg would?"

"We don't. But the FBI still want to speak with him."

"Of course they do," said Nick bitterly. "Why would they care about what he's just been through!"

"Nick, I know Greg's been through a lot, but he's still a witness. The FBI need his help to track down the person responsible."

Nick wasn't listening, he now had another fear. "Is Greg in danger?"

He heard Warrick hesitate before answering. "We don't know. Brass is sending an officer to the hospital just in case."

Nick swore loudly. "What if Greg can't ID the guy and we don't find him but he comes after him anyway?"

"If Greg can't ID him, then it's unlikely the guy would come after him," said Warrick soothingly.

But Nick wasn't willing to take any chances. "That's not good enough! Warrick, we need to find this guy!"

The fear in Nick's voice was palpable and Warrick tried to reassure him. "Don't worry, Nick, we'll find him."

Warrick sighed as he disconnected the call.

"How'd he take it?" asked Catherine, looking up at him from where she had been studying the photos of the first crime scene.

"He wasn't exactly thrilled about it," said Warrick dryly.

"I don't blame him," said Catherine. "It's not exactly a comforting thought that someone from the FBI may be in with these guys. Did he say how Greg was?"

"He's still out," replied Warrick, returning his attention to the pictures spread out on the table.

"Hey, Warrick, do you think Nick has been acting a little strange?"

"Strange?" he repeated uncomfortably, his heart sinking. Warrick had not spoken of Nick's past to anyone since the night they found Greg…even to Nick. Unfortunately, the Texan's actions were causing much fevered muttering in the lab, and Warrick didn't like the questions that were being asked because he didn't want to be the one who was forced to answer them.

He surveyed Catherine's suspicious expression with dismay.

"Yeah," she replied, her brow furrowing as she looked at Warrick. "You don't think so?"

Warrick shrugged. "Hadn't really thought about it."

Catherine straightened up at once. "You know something, don't you?"

"No!"

"I can tell when you're lying, Warrick. What's going on with Nick?"

Warrick sighed and his shoulders slumped. "Look, Cath, it's not my business. You really need to talk to Nick."

"Warrick, what…?"

"Catherine, please don't put me in this position!"

They were both staring at one another uncomfortably when Grissom walked in.

"Hey, Griss what's up?" asked Warrick at once, the relief in his tone evident.

"We may have something," Grissom replied.

"Great!" exclaimed Warrick enthusiastically. "Anything that'll help solve this case."

Catherine, however, noticed his disturbed expression. "Gil, what is it?"

"You know that Ecklie had Days search Alex Hanley's apartment?"

Catherine and Warrick both nodded.

"They found a card with Agent Kramer's contact details on it. But the print they lifted from the card wasn't his."

"So whose was it?" asked Catherine.

"The print belonged to Agent Dobkins."

**xxx**

Just over an hour later, Brass was seated in an interrogation room with Agent Dobkins sitting across from him. Although he had banned Grissom and the other CSI's from having anything to do with the interrogation, they were gathered in the next room watching in grim-faced silence.

Nick had joined them. Having established that Greg was indeed going to be alright and was likely to be out of it for several more hours, he had left the hospital to get answers for the events of the past week. But his stiff, angry stance and rigid expression created a sense of deep foreboding inside Warrick who was watching his friend carefully. He hoped he would be able to keep Nick from doing or saying anything stupid that may betray his secret or cost him his job.

Inside the room, Brass was staring at the woman with a sense of deepest loathing while she smiled back at him with an expression of pained understanding.

"Do you know why you're here?" he demanded, trying hard to keep his tone neutral.

"I have a good idea. But why don't you tell me what you know?"

"I'm not here to tell you what I know. I'm here to ask questions about what I don't know!" snapped Brass.

"So ask," she said simply.

"Why did you give Agent Kramer's contact details to Alex Hanley? Don't try to deny it, we found your prints on a card in his apartment."

"So that's how you knew it was me," she sighed. "I never expected him to keep that card once he made contact with Ryan Kramer."

"Why'd you give it to him?" Brass asked again, through gritted teeth.

"Alex Hanley worked for Providskey and Kramer was a dirty agent; they were a match made in heaven. It was also a means to get to Providskey."

"Why?"

"Why, what?"

"Why did you need to get to Providskey?"

"He was a terrorist and he had to be stopped," she replied, shrugging carelessly.

"What about the usual methods? You know, investigation, interrogation and surveillance…"

She gave a harsh barking laugh. "Do you know how many years I've been watching Providskey, just waiting for a chance to catch him in the act? Nearly eleven years, Detective Brass, eleven years without a single chance at catching the guy! That's a long time to wait."

"If you wanted him that badly, why didn't you go to Hanley yourself and contact Providskey through him?"

"Because I had no mark on my record, and Kramer already had several underworld connections. He was far more believable than me because he meant it; the greedy little scumbag was willing to sell those nuclear plans for a nice little sum for himself. All I had to do was plant the suggestion in his head, give Hanley his details - disguised as someone other than myself of course - and they gave birth to their foul little plot! It was the perfect means to lure Providskey out, I thought he was sure to be at the drop where I could get him."

"You were there?" demanded Brass.

"I was in the vicinity."

"You let Hanley murder two men in cold blood and nearly take off with those plans?!!"

For the first time, Agent Dobkins looked regretful. "No one was meant to get hurt, least of all your CSI. I really am sorry about that."

"Then what the hell was all this about?" snapped Brass, his anger and frustration clearly showing for the first time. "Four people are dead, the plans to a nuclear bomb that could destroy the country nearly made it into the hands of terrorists and an innocent man was _tortured_ for those plans, which he knew nothing about! Now start talking, why the hell was Providskey so important to you?"

"I think you need to hear this story from the beginning, Detective," she smiled sadly. "It goes back nearly fourteen years to when I was a just a rookie."

Brass looked utterly bemused and from behind the glass, Nick cracked his knuckles in anger. Did this woman think this was some joke? People had gotten hurt!

"Cool it, Nick!" hissed Warrick, sensing his agitation.

Nick barely heeded him, his eyes glued to the woman in the next room. The woman who had instigated a chain of events that had nearly killed someone very important to him.

Agent Dobkins gave a heavy sigh before starting her story. "Life was perfect for me back then; I had graduated top of my class and was excelling as an agent. My boss had already told me that I had a bright career ahead of me…and I was engaged to a wonderful man."

"I didn't ask for your life story," Brass interrupted. "Get to the point."

"My life story is where this starts!" she hissed angrily. "Christof Providskey took it from me!"

She sat back in her chair, breathing heavily. "Fourteen years ago, a team of scientists from New York created a biological weapon the likes of which had never been seen before. It was an airborne virus that rendered anyone who had not received immunisation temporarily paralysed. The possibilities for warfare, or even everyday police work, were immense, and as there were no other after affects, the virus seemed a no consequence way of maintaining peace. The Military showed particular interest in it of course, and paid for much of the research."

She shook her head sadly. "It turned out they were wrong about the after affects; within months, test subjects started dying of heart disease. Further investigation revealed a massive wastage of tissue and muscle within a short period of time. One scientist in particular, Dr. Tom Miller, probed further and discovered that once the muscle wastage appeared, it destroyed the heart in just a matter of days, meaning there was no way to stop it."

"Why didn't they discover these side affects when they were creating this virus?" Brass wanted to know.

"Because controlled experiments and the outside world are two different things," Agent Dobkins told him sadly. "The paralysis wore off, but the virus never left the body and exposure to outside viruses such as the common cold caused it to mutate while in the host body, killing it."

"I never heard of this virus," Brass told her. "How come you know so much about it?"

"Because all research into the virus proved fruitless and in 1993, the project was shelved," replied Agent Dobkins. "But not before word of its existence spread among scientific communities…and from there to terrorists."

Agent Dobkins was now very still, an expression of pain on her face. "On August twenty-first, 1994, a group of five men broke into a research facility in Washington DC and took seven scientists hostage. Three of those scientists were part of the original team that had created the virus, which was what the men wanted."

"I still don't see what all this has to do with Providskey," Brass interrupted.

"You will," said Agent Dobkins, bitterly. "I headed the FBI unit assigned to the case after the Government refused to negotiate. After three days, when negotiations broke down, I sent in a sniper team. The men had threatened torture to get the formula out of the scientists and I had no choice. Five of the scientists and four of the terrorists died including Dr. Tom Miller…my fiancée."

Agent Dobkins swallowed hard and looked at the table. "I lost everything that day," she said in a low voice. "And I needed to find out who was responsible. The one terrorist we had captured alive knew very little, and official investigations turned up nothing. Unofficially, I used some underground contacts and discovered who had sent in the terrorists."

"Providskey," said Brass, understanding beginning to dawn. "But without any evidence, you couldn't press any charges."

"I have spent the last eleven years trying to track down the man responsible for Tom's death," she ground out, pain evident in her voice. "It was like chasing a ghost! Then, two years ago at a charity gala, I was introduced to Christof Providskey…the very generous benefactor who had organised the gala! This man, a terrorist who was responsible for the death of five innocent people, was viewed as a pillar of the community! I knew then that I would never be able to get Providskey…not if I played by the rules."

"So you used Agent Kramer to get to him," said Brass.

She nodded. "It wasn't easy. I had to wait for the right opportunity to present itself…"

"…The missile plans," interjected Brass and she nodded.

"Then I had to get Alex Hanley to contact Ryan Kramer and plant the suggestion in Ryan's head. I bugged Ryan's apartment so I would know when he had arranged the meeting and removed it before the department reported him missing."

"And followed him to Vegas," said Brass in disgust. "How did you contact Providskey?"

"I stole Ryan's phone from his body before the police turned up and called Providskey from it. I pretended to be a friend of Ryan's."

"Why did you tell him to use Nick Stokes to get the plans?"

"Because it was the only way to draw Providskey out, and the only way to get Greg Sanders back alive."

"That still doesn't explain why you used Nick. You put his life in danger as well as Greg's."

She sighed. "I used the one person I knew would do anything to get Greg back alive. I played on Mr. Stokes feelings, but I didn't exactly have much of a choice. I'm not proud of what I've done…but I don't regret it either."

Behind the glass, Nick felt his face burn as all his colleagues turned to stare at him. Sara and Catherine looked confused, while pity was written on Warrick's face. Grissom, however, was studying him shrewdly.

"Guys, would you mind heading back to the lab?" he requested. "I'd like a quick word with Nick."

"Sure," replied Sara, with a last uncertain glance at them before she left the room, Warrick and Catherine trailing nervously in her wake.

As the door closed behind them and Grissom turned to face him, Nick felt his heart sink. "Grissom, I…"

His supervisor held up his hand. "How long has this been going on, Nick?"

"Nothing's going on," replied Nick quietly.

"Nick…"

"Seriously, Grissom. That bitch" - angrily, Nick gesticulated behind the glass to where Brass was arresting Agent Dobkins - "was right about my…feelings for Greg. But I swear, nothing ever happened."

Grissom took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I guess this explains your actions somewhat. What are you going to do next?"

"What do you mean?"

"About Greg! Does he know?"

Nick shook his head. "I think it's best he doesn't. He's been through enough without me dropping this bombshell on him."

"Greg's not stupid, Nick," said Grissom quietly. "When he hears the full story about what happened, he will put two and two together…Don't you think it would be best if he heard it from you?"

**xxx**

His shoulders were still throbbing painfully when Greg woke in the hospital room for the second time. Groaning, he opened his eyes to find a doctor hovering over him.

"Ah, Mr. Sanders, you're awake. Good. How do you feel?" asked the doctor cheerfully.

"Hurts," Greg croaked out.

The doctors cheerful smile disappeared at once. "Still? Dear, dear, I'd better up your Morphine again."

As he reached to the tray beside the bed and started to fill a syringe, Greg noticed an officer standing in the doorway. Greg vaguely remembered seeing him around the halls of LVPD but didn't know him personally. He wondered what he was doing there. And where was Nick? He had said he wouldn't leave.

"Here we go," muttered the doctor, breaking his musings as he entered the contents of the syringe into his line. "We had hoped to take your painkillers down a little but it's obviously too soon."

"Oh," muttered Greg, unsure what else to say.

"If you need anything, just call for the nurse, okay?" the doctor told him quietly before trotting out of the room.

Left alone, Greg found his thoughts returning to Nick. His mind no longer clouded by fear or pain, Greg was now starting to question why his kidnappers had called on Nick when Grissom had said no. More to the point, Nick had acted. Why?

The answer that popped into his head caused a little bubble of hope to form. He had spent so many years hoping that Nick felt the same way-

_No! You're only seeing what you want to see_!

Greg gave a bitter laugh. It couldn't be that, it had to be something else. But then he remembered Christof's words…_You are as valuable as I thought, little fish_…_to Mr. Stokes at least._

Greg was bewildered. All the points led to one conclusion; but he had known Nick for years and he was straight. Wasn't he?

Another memory nudged its way into Greg's mind; Nick holding his hand, twinning his fingers with his.

Frowning, he shook his head. _No way could that have happened!_

He was just beginning to wonder if had suffered brain damage when a soft voice interrupted his musings. "Greg?"

Nick stood in the doorway, looking tired and nervous.

"Hey," Greg greeted him, uncomfortably aware that his heart monitor had gone up a notch.

Nick moved to the chair beside the bed and sat down. "How're you feeling?"

"Sore," Greg admitted. "Nick, what happened?"

His eyes on the floor, Nick recited the events of the past week. There was silence when he finished and he chanced a quick look at Greg.

The young lab tech was watching him with a bewildered expression on his face.

"Greg, you okay?"

"Yeah, but…I don't understand. Why did you do that? Why did you go to all that trouble…for me?"

Nick's heart sank. He had expected the question, but part of him had hoped Greg wouldn't ask it.

"Greg, I need to tell you something, and it might be a little hard for you to hear."

The younger man looked worried now. "Okay."

Nick exhaled and ran his hands over his face. "This all started when I was a teenager," he tried to explain and then stopped, frowning in frustration. This was a million times harder then telling the story to Warrick. The CSI groaned miserably. _He's gonna hate me when I tell him._

Greg was looking at him expectantly. "Nick?"

The Texan sighed. "This isn't easy for me to tell, Greg. I need to ask you just to listen until I'm done."

"Okay. Sorry," Greg apologised meekly.

"No! Don't apologise." _Just don't hate me when I'm done_, he added silently.

Slowly, quietly, and without looking at Greg, Nick told him the story of what had happened to him as a teenager. When he finished, he kept his gaze fixed on the floor as silence filled the room.

It was a long time before Greg spoke. "Nick, I'm sorry," he said quietly.

There was pity in his voice and Nick looked up. Greg was watching him with an expression of kindness and sorrow, and a hint of something else he couldn't quite place his finger on.

"I haven't told you everything," Nick admitted in a small voice.

"Take your time," Greg told him gently.

Nick looked away again. "After what happened to Jerry, I pretended I wasn't gay. I spent years telling myself that until…until something happened that frightened me even more than being gay."

Nick swallowed hard. His heart was hammering madly in his chest, and he could tell by Greg's heart monitor that his was beating faster than normal too. "The night you were taken hostage at the crime scene, I blamed myself. It was my fault, I didn't follow protocol and I didn't behave very professionally after Hanley forced you to drive my truck. I thought it was because I felt so guilty about what happened, but then the FBI got involved and it looked like we wouldn't be able to get you back and I got…I got really scared."

Nick chanced a look at Greg. The other man was very still and watching Nick with a strange expression on his face.

Nick gulped and took a deep breath. "After we got the first phone call from Providskey, I realised that my feelings ran a little deeper than guilt. And you have no idea how much that scared me, Greg, to finally admit that to myself, but there was something else that scared me even more…losing you."

Greg's jaw dropped as Nick looked him straight in the face. "I'll understand if you hate me, Greg, or if you feel really weird around me. But I just wanted you to know how sorry I am for what happened, and how much…how much I care about you."

Greg's look of shock vanished, and to Nick's utter confusion, his face broke into a beaming smile.

"Why would I hate you?"

"What?"

"Nick, you've just told me the one thing that I've been hoping you'd say for years!"

Now it was Nick's turn to look astonished. "I…what?"

"I've always liked you, Nick," Greg told him gently. "But there was no way I thought you'd ever return the feeling so I kept quiet."

"You…do?" A host of emotions were running through Nick; happiness, confusion, fear, relief and apprehension.

Greg couldn't believe this was happening. His heart was pounding with fear and happiness, and his head was spinning dizzily. Just to hear Nick say that to him had made the pain and fear of the last week worth it.

"I don't…I don't know what to do next," Nick confessed. He had expected Greg to yell at him and regard him with disgust…but not this. He wasn't prepared for this.

"I do," said Greg softly, holding out his hand to Nick. "We take things slowly."

Nick stared at the proffered hand for a minute before slowly reaching out and grasping it with his own. He felt a warmth spread through him and a feeling of belonging, of being home; as if his own soul had suddenly found what it had been looking for all along.

A smile stole over his face as he stared back at the soft brown eyes fixated on him. The weight of the past melted away, and he could see his future opening up in front of him. Never again would Nick feel afraid of who he was.

Slowly, he reached out and ran a hand down Greg's face. "We take things slowly," he repeated, enjoying the intimacy of the soft caress. "We have forever to get where we're going."

_**A/N:**__ Here's the final chapter. I'm sorry for the long wait. All I can do is plead life, work and a deficient ending to the story; it was nothing short of TORTURE to finish this. Lisa, I took up your challange but never again will I write such a thing. I'm lousy at writing romance and even worse at writing slash (as the abominable, saccharine sweet ending to this story will testify). I'll leave it to the experts in furture! _

_But I would please ask that anyone who reads this take a little time to review. This story (and in particular this chapter) was a labour of blood, sweet, tears and many (MANY) temper tantrums! I may not have quite nailed the challange but I did give it my best shot, and I'm hoping you'll forgive me in that. Thank you. :-)_


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